


Greener Pastures

by vipjuly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, BDSM, Bladder Control, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, F/M, Gentle Dom Castiel (Supernatural), Heterosexual Sex, Infidelity, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sub Dean, Sugar Daddy Castiel (Supernatural), Switching, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Twink Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-20 21:29:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21288449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: Castiel's marriage is a business transaction, more than anything. He loves his wife, but not in the way a husband should. Daphne hires a stable boy to help with their modest farm and while Castiel is glad to have the assistance, he's even more glad about who the help is, specifically.Dean Winchester cleans the stables, rebuilds the chicken coops, and rocks Castiel's socks in a way Daphne never could.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Daphne Allen/Castiel
Comments: 397
Kudos: 541





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [haikuhamster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haikuhamster/gifts).

> This story is complete and will be posted on a (random) schedule!  
If infidelity is not your thing, be warned.  
This story has a happy ending for all parties.  
Dean is 18.

The doorbell rings, echoing around the house, bouncing off of the marble floors and ringing through the cathedral ceilings of the main level. Castiel glances up from his desk inside his office, frowning minutely. He checks his watch. He opens his e-mail. Unlocks his phone. No one is scheduled to drop by today, and Daphne hadn’t said anything about anyone visiting, which causes Castiel to be equal parts stumped and mildly frustrated. Daphne is gone at work, a professor Monday through Friday, and Castiel chooses to work from home, remotely. The idea of someone dropping by while he’s home alone is disconcerting, mostly because he’s been (rightfully) accused of being a hermit, and he’d rather not have his bubble of solidarity popped during some of the only peaceful, quiet moments he’s permitted. 

The doorbell rings again. Figuring his guest isn’t keen on leaving, Castiel straightens a few things on his desk. Even though he’s working from home he’s still the picture of professional; charcoal grey slacks, a white button-down, and a blood red tie. Sometimes he does video conferences to make sure everything is running smoothly, and he always wants to look like the capable CEO everyone counts on him to be. He adjusts his thick-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose, the heels of his dress shoes clicking on the marble floors as he crosses from his study to the front door. 

Another ring grates immediately on his nerves. Unlocking the bolt and swinging the door open to reveal the all-glass windscreen, any chastising falls directly off of Castiel’s tongue and splatters onto the floor by his feet. 

“Mr. Novak?” 

Standing on the other side of the glass door is the most beautiful boy Castiel has ever laid eyes on. Sandy blond hair, sparkling green eyes, freckle-dotted golden skin; he’s wearing Levi’s, a tank top, and a blue unbuttoned flannel, fairly modest clothes that neither enhance nor detract from his physique. There’s a cowboy hat perched on his head, his hands in his pockets, and he’s wearing work boots that look like they’re well used. Overall, the boy is easy on the eyes. But when Castiel makes eye contact with the kid, it’s all he can do to keep himself upright.

White-knuckling the door handle, Castiel finally clears his throat and clenches his jaw a few times before trusting his voice to speak. “Yes. And you are?” Please don’t be a surprise stripper-gram from Gabriel.

“Dean Winchester, Sir,” the boy replies, lifting a hand to tip his hat amicably. His Texan accent is thick, sweet. A polite country boy. He flashes a smile, but it’s slightly guarded at the corners. “Mrs. Novak hired me on to take care of the stables during the week. I’m here to check in…?” 

Thank God.

Castiel tries desperately to think of when Daphne could have hired help, but comes up blank. If it’s help in the stables and on the land then it’s, regrettably, likely something that Castiel had waved off and agreed to without actually listening to details. After all, it was Daphne’s dream to live on a ranch of some sorts, not Castiel’s, so whatever ideas she comes up with to fulfill her fantasy he tends to agree to without much thought. Realistically, hiring help is exactly what she needs. On the weekends she can tend to the horses and the stables, but during the week she’s much too swamped with work to properly take care of things. Naturally, she’d hire a local to come and help her. Judging by who’s standing in front of him, Castiel surmises that this is a high school boy from a local ranch looking to make some extra cash. 

“Right,” Castiel finally says. “My apologies, I lost track of time. Would you like to come in?” 

Dean’s eyes travel over Castiel’s shoulder into the immaculate foyer, and something passes through those pretty green depths before he plasters on a smile and shakes his head. “No, thank you, Sir. If nothing’s locked up then I can go ahead and start.” 

“Very well,” Castiel says. “Please let me know if there’s anything I may do for you.”

He might imagine it, but he thinks Dean’s gaze sweeps over him from head to toe, before the boy smiles brightly and nods. “Will do, Sir.” 

When Dean is out of sight Castiel finally lets go of the doorknob. There’s condensation on the brass from the spaces between his fingers, his grip so tight it generated heat. Sighing, Castiel stiffly walks back to his desk, fever and cold chills running across his skin as he has a seat and picks up his phone. Daphne picks up on the third ring, and Castiel does his best to temper his voice.

“You hired a stable boy.” 

“Oh!” Daphne lets out a bright, tinkling laugh. “Yes, Dean. He’s from the Winchester ranch on the other side of town. I put an ad out in the paper and he was the first qualified candidate. He just graduated high school and was looking for summer work before heading off to college.” 

Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose. “Well. He’s here.” 

“As he’s supposed to be,” Daphne says, amusement in her voice. “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you this morning, I was running late and rushing.”

Taking off his glasses, he sets them aside gently so he doesn’t give into the temptation to throw them. Oh, is he ruffled. 

“Anyway,” Daphne continues, “make sure he comes in for lunch, ok? The stipulations are a paycheck and one big meal a day in exchange for his work.” 

Leaning back in his chair, Castiel stares up at the ornate ceiling of his study, eyes trailing along the carved beams. “And I suppose it is I who will be making his lunch.” 

“You don’t even make your _own_ lunch,” Daphne chastises. “You usually work through it. So: yes. You’re going to make that sweet boy lunch five days a week and come out of that hobbit hole for some fresh air. A win-win for everyone.”

“It’s not a hobbit hole,” Castiel scowls. 

“Honey,” Daphne says sweetly, “this will be good for you. You know, since we don’t…” she trails off a little.

A five minute conversation with a beautiful, sunkissed boy has thrown a huge wrench in Castiel’s peaceful existence, because he tunes Daphne out, his mind’s eye instead replaying the way bowed legs had carried temptation away. 

“I think having a child around will be good for both of us.” 

Daphne’s voice swims back into his conscious and Castiel blinks a few times, trying to get his brain back online with the conversation. Of _course_. Castiel and Daphne had decided not to even adopt children, both focusing on their professional careers and unsure if bringing a child into the mix would be a good thing, given the circumstances. Daphne hiring an eighteen year old boy as some sort of surrogate child would actually be pretty smart, but there’s just one, teeny, tiny problem.

“Did you interview him in person before hiring him?” Castiel asks.

“No,” Daphne admits. She has no idea what the boy looks like - she has no idea that Castiel has interest in men, at all. “I chatted with him on the phone and then also spoke with his father. He’s a very polite, respectable boy, and his father says his work ethic is unmatched.”

“Mr. Winchester doesn’t mind lending out his boy during the week?”

“He says he has another son and that it would be no problem to lose Dean for just one summer.” 

Falling quiet, Castiel mulls things over. Daphne patiently allows the silence, the sound of pages turning in the background of her side of the phone call. Likely grading papers while Castiel goes through his midlife crisis. Eventually Castiel lets out a breath, forcing his body to relax in his chair.

“Must I be the one to feed him?”

“Fresh air, dear,” Daphne says idly, but not distractedly. Castiel knows he won’t get out of it. “I’ll know if you order food.”

“Fine.” Castiel says, almost petulantly. Daphne just laughs and bids him good day, and when Castiel is left alone with his thoughts, he finds he can’t concentrate on work any longer. He gets up from his desk and heads out of his study towards the kitchen, entering the bright, open space, walking past the large center island so he can stand in front of the glass french doors that open out to the back deck. 

From here he has an unhindered view of the farm. It’s nothing extravagant, since it’s only him, Daphne, and a few house employees; one barn with stables, a fenced pasture for their three horses, and a chicken coop. Castiel had refused anything more, pointing out that they would need to actually hire hands, and it didn’t take much to convince Daphne that they did _not_ actually want to run an operational ranch. The horses are for riding and leisure, the chickens are for food (although there is one that Daphne has gotten attached to), and the wide open space is for peace of mind. It’s not too much, but it’s not too little, and Castiel really does enjoy it. 

Whenever he gets out there. 

Movement at the stables catches his attention. Dean is cleaning out the stables, using a pitch fork to pile waste and dirty hay into a wheelbarrow. There’s an area on the side of the barn for composting, which Dean treks to when his wheelbarrow is full. He’s lost the flannel, his white tank top looking a little dark from sweat in the late-May heat, and he’s too far away for Castiel to make out details, but the shape of his body is… stunning. 

Castiel knows he shouldn’t stare. Knows he shouldn’t have any sort of thoughts other than being grateful for the boy’s help over the summer. But he can’t… help it. Dean’s body is trim but tightly compacted, his shoulders broader than his waist, his legs bowed delicately. The word ‘twink’ comes to mind and Castiel immediately squashes it down, forcibly turning away from the doors so he can remove his gaze from temptation. 

He’s just… pent up. Dean is a beautiful boy, capable and seemingly polite, and it’s only natural for Castiel to feel attraction for him. Although he should probably confirm that the boy is eighteen before lusting after him, even if those urges are locked and confined within his mind...

Catching his thoughts, Castiel runs a hand over his face. He glances at the clock and sees that it’s barely nine, and then sighs. He needs to get some work done if he’s really expected to make lunch for Dean. 

If only he could concentrate.

\--

Just before noon his phone beeps with a text. It’s from Daphne, reminding him to feed Dean. Castiel is glad for the reminder, because he’d gotten caught with work and was actually making some progress. But now it’s time to feed Dean, and Castiel won’t have any sort of barrier between them, and to be honest, his people skills are ‘rusty’, so he’s unsure if Dean will even want to stick around long enough to eat. 

What stupid insecurities. Dean’s a growing boy. Of course he’ll want to eat, especially after working so hard for the past four hours.

When Castiel steps out onto the back deck, the heat of the sun hits him so hard his skin tingles. Realizing that Dean has been out in the sun all morning without water or food has Castiel looking around the area to try and locate him so he can bring him inside for a break. He sees movement in the chicken coop so he risks his nice dress shoes to walk down the steps and make his way over, sliding his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting.

Inside the chicken coop, Dean is swinging a hammer. He has nails tucked between his plush lips, his brow is furrowed, and there’s a sheen of sweat glistening across the back of his neck and shoulders. He’s hammering wood, and as Castiel lets his eyes take in the full picture, he realizes that Dean has nearly transformed the chicken coop. Daphne had watched a few tutorials on how to build a chicken coop, but she’d never built anything in her life. Her ramshackle coop is a mansion, now, an addition on one side and a ramp leading to the ground making it look like something out of _Farm Journal_. 

Castiel’s shadow falls over Dean which causes him to turn his head to squint up at the man, before recognition and a smile breaks out over his pretty features. The nails between his teeth add to the picture for some reason and Castiel coughs lightly, nodding towards the coop. 

“That looks much better.”

Dean laughs, pulling the nails out of his mouth and tucking them into a toolbelt slung around his narrow hips. He puts the hammer in a loop on the belt and then takes a step back, taking his cowboy hat off his head so he can run his fingers through his hair and wick away some of the sweat. 

“It wasn’t terrible, but if you want good eggs ya gotta treat your chickens like princesses,” Dean says with a grin. “They’re fussy little things.” 

“I see.” Castiel and Dean stare at the coop for a moment, watching the chickens explore it, before Castiel remembers why he came out in the first place. “It’s lunch time. Are you hungry?”

“Starved,” Dean says without embarrassment. He turns his smile up towards Castiel, their height difference minute, but noticeable. “I’ll wash up out here so I don’t track nothin’ inside.”

Nodding, Castiel tries not to imagine Dean playing around with a hose. He offers a tight smile. “Do you have any requests?” 

Something flashes in Dean’s eyes and he says casually, “Anything you do to me will be awesome.” before he starts to head off towards the barn.

“Excuse me?” Castiel asks dumbly after him.

Dean flashes a gorgeous smile over his shoulder, “I said, anything you make will be awesome.” He _winks_ and disappears around the barn, leaving Castiel standing amongst clucking chickens, wondering if his sanity is slipping or if Dean actually…

No matter. Go back to the house, make lunch, feed Dean, go back to work. 

Feed Dean. 

Feed…

Shit.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel feels like he’s stepped into the Twilight zone.

The eldest Winchester boy, Dean, is eighteen years old and fresh out of high school, on break for summer before heading off to college. He has broad shoulders, narrow hips, bow legs, and a sweet Texan accent that makes “Mr. Novak” sound like a sin. Castiel does his best to avoid him, but Dean typically crops up when he least expects it. In return for his services Monday through Friday Daphne will be paying him, and he gets one full meal during his shift. 

A meal that is perfectly timed with Castiel’s.

Castiel is the one that is supposed to be doing the cooking, after all.

Now, it’s not that Castiel doesn’t love his wife. He does, wholly and truly, but probably not like how most husbands love their wives. Married at thirty via an arrangement by their parents, they fell into routine. Castiel fucks her - ah, excuse me, _makes love_ to her - in missionary on Sunday nights, they agree that children aren’t an option, and they otherwise live pretty separate lives. Mundane, boring, vanilla lives… but it works for them.

Sort of.

It works for Daphne.

Any time Castiel tries to spice it up - in the bedroom, that is - he’s either met with refusal or indifference. At forty-five years old he’s not getting any younger and feeling sexually unfulfilled hadn’t bothered him until the past year or so. He can’t bind her, choke her, gag her, pour hot wax on her, blindfold her, or fuck her in the hot tub (“do you _want_ me to get a yeast infection?”). He doesn’t think he’s a kinky bastard, but he’s feeling hungry for something that he’s yet to have. He wasn’t a virgin when they married, far from it, but his sexual exploits had been far and few between with both men and women as he climbed his way up the corporate ladder. When he and Daphne married, he’d been under the illusion that at least his libido would be satisfied for the long run.

It was not.

For the majority of their marriage he’s survived on porn and intricate fantasies; fantasies that mostly included someone submissive, begging, and crying underneath him. Someone who begged for his cock, someone who wanted to be stuffed in every single hole all at once, someone who would effortlessly and eagerly fall to his whims, no matter the time or place. All things Daphne is not.

That’s not to say Daphne isn’t a wonderful person; she is. She has a sweet sense of humor, a beautiful smile, and her and Castiel are very good friends - always have been. Castiel respects her a great deal, and he wishes they could figure something out between them, but it’s been fifteen years of their best memories and connections happening _outside_ of the bedroom.

Anyway, this brings us to the present, and to one specific Dean Winchester, twink cowboy who can swing a hammer just as well as he can whisper to the horses. He’s a beautiful blend of a masculine, capable young man, handy around the farm and able to do his job above and beyond, as well as being a sight for sore eyes, plush lips, bright eyes, sun kissed freckles. 

Castiel isn’t stupid. He sees the way Dean looks at him from under his lashes, is not ignorant to the way Dean stretches an inch further if he knows Castiel is watching. The most obvious tell is Dean suddenly joining Castiel for lunch every day, promptly, at 12:35pm, whereas before he would dart inside, fix a sandwich, and eat on the go. For the past week he’s been eating with Castiel, which Castiel is grateful for since Daphne had said he was to make his lunch in the first place, taking it upon himself now to fix sandwiches, assemble salads, dish pasta for the two of them. They don’t talk much - Castiel resolutely tells himself he doesn’t have much to talk to an eighteen year old about - but Dean never seems to mind the quiet. Sometimes he rattles off this or that about what he’s doing on the meager Novak farm, but most time he stays quiet while he sits opposite of Castiel at the eat-in kitchen table, their toes inches from touching. 

Dean is polite. He’s well-mannered, always ready with a “Yes, Sir” or a “No, Sir”, says please and thank you. When he’s spoken to he gives his full attention, his concentration never wavering, and Castiel is fairly impressed when he realizes Dean doesn’t play around on his phone during down time like every other kid his age. 

He’s very charming.

Again, Castiel isn’t stupid. There’s a tension between them, one he doesn’t know how to control or stomp out, a burgeoning livewire that links them from Castiel’s eyes to the sweet bow of Dean’s lips. He’s never given age much thought when it comes to being attracted to someone, but he’s not particularly surprised that someone as young and vibrant as Dean has caught his attention.

Daphne raves about Dean, always has a cheek-pinch and a batch of homemade cookies for him when he leaves late on Fridays, the one day she comes home early and has him teach her a thing or two about what he’s doing so she can do some things on her own when she has time. Daphne says Dean is good to have around for more than help - she knows he and Castiel take lunch together and she has this innocent pride in the fact that Castiel lets himself out of his office (“hobbit hole”) to mingle and get in some actual human interaction. Never mind the fact that Castiel rather likes the solitude of his office and doing everything via conference calls and Skype. Daphne likes to brush off his introverted nature and intrude on it. It’s kind of annoying, but Castiel suffers through it, because he knows she means well.

Happy wife, happy life, they say.

In any case, despite the tension that ratchets up more and more every day between them, Castiel _does_ enjoy Dean’s company. __

_ _

_ _He still fucks Daphne in missionary every Sunday._ _

_ _

_ _She still refuses to do anything more. Sometimes Castiel even wonders if she orgasms or if she fakes it; he’s a generous lover, but sometimes she bats his fingers away from her clit, or doesn’t allow his mouth near her. He has the faint inkling that she might be seeing someone on the side, someone that satisfies her vanilla needs, and he’s not surprised to find that he doesn’t care. If she’s having an affair with someone whom she allows to get her rocks off, more power to her. He’s always viewed this marriage as a business transaction of sorts, even though he frequently feels as though he gets the short end of the stick, so to speak._ _

_ _

_ _She doesn’t need to know that sometimes when they’re fucking - ah, _making love_ \- he closes his eyes and imagines a different body beneath him. One with less curves, firm with youthful muscles, warm from the sun and all sorts of receptive. Sometimes he imagines the heat he sinks into is someone else entirely, and sometimes that causes him to orgasm much faster than usual._ _

_ _

_ _Daphne never complains._ _

_ _

_ _Sex has always been a routine for them. _ _

_ _

_ _On one Tuesday Castiel is rinsing vegetables in the sink, preparing to chop them up for a niçoise salad. He’s pretty sure Dean doesn’t know what that is, let alone how to pronounce it, but he hasn’t made a single complaint about anything Castiel has prepared so far._ _

_ _

_ _The french doors snick open and the smell of hay wafts into Castiel’s nostrils, announcing Dean’s presence. He hears Dean’s body sink down into a chair - the table is close to the doors and Dean always feels guilty tracking his dirty boots into the house further than necessary - and the usual sunshine he feels whenever Dean is in the same room feels a bit dimmed today. Taking care to finish the salad before getting distracted, it takes Castiel another ten minutes to plate their food and sit down. Across from Dean he takes a moment to observe the boy; there are bags under his eyes and his skin is flushed from perhaps something other than the sun._ _

_ _

_ _Perplexed and concerned, Castiel asks, “Are you coming down with a cold?”_ _

_ _

_ _Dean shrugs, picking up his fork and poking at his salad. “Dunno.” _ _

_ _

_ _Castiel frowns. “If you are unwell you shouldn’t be working.” _ _

_ _

_ _Dean chews his lower lip, teeth worrying the flesh. This is a far cry from the charming and flirty company he’s been for the past month. “Mrs. Novak…”_ _

_ _

_ _Frowning further, Castiel tries to suss out why Dean would be bringing her up after an inquiry of his health. “Yes?” _ _

_ _

_ _Hesitating, Dean pokes at his salad a bit more. _ _

_ _

_ _Sitting straighter in his seat, Castiel sends Dean a firm gaze. “Speak, boy.” _ _

_ _

_ _“I saw her with Mr. Crowley,” Dean rushes to say, barely any pitch to his voice._ _

_ _

_ _Blinking a few times, Castiel sifts through his thoughts for who Mr. Crowley is. When he finds him he remembers him as one of Daphne’s colleagues, another professor at the university. Holding onto his patience, he replies, “They are colleagues. Seeing them together shouldn’t be surprising.” _ _

_ _

_ _Dean snorts, “Seeing them kiss was.” _ _

_ _

_ _Now, Castiel knows he should feel a myriad of things. Jealousy, definitely. Anger, probably. Indignation, surely. But none of those things filter through his brain as Dean tells him his wife is, indeed, having an affair. Instead, Castiel takes another bite of his salad, has a drink of ice water, and says, “I see.” _ _

_ _

_ _Dean’s eyes finally raise to meet Castiel’s. The jealousy, anger, and indignation is present there, the boy feeling everything Castiel is not. “You don’t care?”_ _

_ _

_ _“I don’t expect you to understand, Dean,” Castiel says carefully. “I had suspected she was indulging in an affair for quite some time. Our marriage isn’t perfect.”_ _

_ _

_ _“Then why are you married?” Dean asks, clearly unable to wrap his mind around it._ _

_ _

_ _“Societal standing,” Castiel says easily. “Our marriage was, and still is, a business transaction.”_ _

_ _

_ _“You don’t love her?” Dean asks, wounded for Daphne. Hurting for Castiel. Oh, what a beautiful boy, who feels so much._ _

_ _

_ _“I do,” Castiel says, “but not in the way a husband loves his wife.” _ _

_ _

_ _Dean falls silent after that, still staring at his salad._ _

_ _

_ _“Is that why you look unwell? How long have you known?”_ _

_ _

_ _A guilty expression crosses Dean’s features. “Since Saturday afternoon, Sir.” _ _

_ _

_ _Ah, Saturday. Daphne had said she was meeting a colleague for lunch, which was obviously true, but managed to leave out their plans for... dessert. Still, Castiel isn’t bothered by it. Unsurprisingly. Instead, what he’s focusing on is Dean’s investment in his relationship with Daphne, and how he looks so guilty to have not mentioned anything at all yesterday, instead waiting to bring it up today at lunch. _ _

_ _

_ _There’s something, _something_ tugging at Castiel’s subconscious, so he says, “And you kept it from me until today, when you had plenty of opportunity to tell me yesterday.” _ _

_ _

_ _Dean sort of shrinks in on himself. “I’m sorry, Sir. I thought-”_ _

_ _

_ _“Dean.”_ _

_ _

_ _The boy shuts up beautifully._ _

_ _

_ _“Look at me.”_ _

_ _

_ _He meets Castiel’s gaze prettily._ _

_ _

_ _Trouble._ _

_ _

_ _“I care not of my wife’s affairs when I have such lovely company for lunch when she’s absent.” _ _

_ _

_ _Watching the gears click and turn in Dean’s head as he processes Castiel’s words is art, and when it finally registers, the flush that spreads on Dean’s cheeks is as rapturous as the way his irises turn from spring green to dark jade. “Oh.”_ _

_ _

_ _Castiel returns to his salad when he’s satisfied that Dean can’t misconstrue the implication. “Does it truly take you a full eight hours to complete all of the chores?”_ _

_ _

_ _“No, Sir,” Dean says, finally tucking into his food. “But Mrs. Novak hired me on to work eight hours, five days a week, and I intend to use that time wisely. So some tasks I drag out to fill time, or I do repairs and maintenance that has been overlooked.”_ _

_ _

_ _“If you work as efficiently as I know you can, how many hours would it take you to complete your tasks?” _ _

_ _

_ _“About four hours, Sir. This farm is a cakewalk compared to my dad’s ranch.” _ _

_ _

_ _“So you would be done by lunch, then.”_ _

_ _

_ _“Yes, Sir.” _ _

_ _

_ _Castiel contemplates his next words, and then decides to lay out all his cards on the table as he catches Dean’s gaze and holds it. “I would like you to make a doctor appointment for as soon as possible and get a full screen. Print out the results and bring them to me, and then we may discuss some options going forward. If you can complete your chores efficiently by lunch time every day…” he picks up his glass, holding it up to his lips and speaking clearly over the rim. “... I believe we can find more entertaining ways to spend the afternoons.”_ _

_ _

_ _Some lettuce falls out of Dean’s mouth when his jaw drops open, and he scrambles to grab a napkin, flushing a lovely shade of pink as he clears his throat and sets his fork down. “Yes, Sir.”_ _

_ _

_ _They finish their lunch in companionable silence, even if Dean squirms a bit more than usual._ _

_ _

_ _Daphne’s affair is easy to forget when such a sweet offering is laid out in front of him._ _

_ _

_ _\--_ _

_ _

_ _The following Tuesday, before Dean heads out to the stables, he knocks on the open door leading into Castiel’s study. He’s been leaving it open every day in the hopes that Dean will stop by with his test results, a cautious optimism since Dean had barely spoken a word to him since their discussion, and he’s pleased to see Dean’s beautiful face blushed pink as he clutches an envelope in his hands._ _

_ _

_ _“Come in,” Castiel says, his voice rough from not speaking yet today._ _

_ _

_ _Dean steps in, his feet quiet. Castiel glances to see that Dean has removed his boots and is walking across the carpet on socked feet, which causes Castiel to smile faintly. Sweet, sweet boy._ _

_ _

_ _“You have your results?” Castiel asks, minimizing the spreadsheet he’d been filling in so he can give Dean his full attention. It’s eight o’clock on the dot. Punctual boy._ _

_ _

_ _“Yes, Sir,” Dean says. The way he says ‘sir’ always ignites something deep within Castiel, even though he knows it’s more Texas charm than explicit obedience, but he’ll be rectifying that soon enough. _ _

_ _

_ _Taking the envelope, Castiel pulls the papers out and pushes his glasses up his nose so he can scan over them. Everything is clear, just as he’d hoped and expected, and in turn Castiel opens up a locked drawer and holds out a piece of paper towards Dean. The boy takes it with a furrowed brow and, once he reads over the contents, the blush on his cheeks deepens. _ _

_ _

_ _“Oh.” _ _

_ _

_ _Castiel can’t help the faint smirk that curls over his lips. “I assume that now there is no confusion about what I am asking of you.”_ _

_ _

_ _“No, Sir,” Dean says, putting the paper back on the table. Castiel folds it up and tucks it into the envelope Dean’s had come in, and then puts it all back into his locked drawer. “If I may ask, Sir…” _ _

_ _

_ _Leaning back in his chair, Castiel takes off his glasses and regards Dean with an open expression. To his credit, Dean barely fidgets before he speaks again. _ _

_ _

_ _“What about Mrs. Novak?” _ _

_ _

_ _“I trust your discretion,” Castiel says easily, standing up. He’s dressed in slacks and a white button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie loose since he doesn’t have any video conferences. He rounds the desk and leans against it, folding his arms loosely over his chest, watching Dean’s eyes track over the muscles in his forearms. Daphne never looks at him like that. “Unless you have an issue with an affair?” _ _

_ _

_ _The blunt question doesn’t seem to throw Dean off - that, or he’s just as affected by Castiel as Castiel is by him. “No, Sir.” Dean replies, looking up into Castiel’s eyes. Castiel only has about two inches on Dean, but he has a suspicion that will change in a few year’s time. “I suppose I just wonder…” Suddenly, Dean’s entire demeanor changes. His lashes lower, his lips tilt coyly, and he says, “...if you’re asking this of me because she can’t please you.” _ _

_ _

_ _Castiel’s jaw tenses, and he has to wrestle his libido under control. Dean looking at him so coyly, asking that faux-innocent question, clearly able to deduce why Castiel would be interested in an affair with an eighteen year old boy, deliberately - already - pushing Castiel’s buttons._ _

_ _

_ _A brat._ _

_ _

_ _A lovely surprise._ _

_ _

_ _“She does not,” Castiel answers honestly. Answers as plain as the sky is blue. “She is unwilling to explore in the bedroom.” He uncrosses his arms, taking a step towards Dean, able to see the boy’s pupils dilate in response. “She’s quite boring. She doesn’t enjoy oral, refuses to be in any position other than missionary, and barely lets me touch her.” Castiel reaches up to cup Dean’s jaw, marveling at the baby smooth skin under his big palm. “The issue with that, Dean, is that I’m a very… giving lover.” Dean licks his lips, tilting his chin up a bit. Castiel’s thumb rests below his full lower lip, his pinky extended down the line of Dean’s throat. “So what I’m curious about… is if you’re as needy as I am giving.” _ _

_ _

_ _A little whimper escapes Dean’s throat. Castiel’s grip suddenly tightens, his thumb slipping down so he has Dean’s windpipe caged in, applying slight pressure. Dean’s spine relaxes and his head tilts back more, lashes fluttering as he struggles to keep his eyes open. Castiel’s dick twitches in his slacks, and he lifts his other hand to turn Dean’s head this way and that, admiring him unabashed. _ _

_ _

_ _“You’re obedient. What experience do you have?” _ _

_ _

_ _“A bear, Sir,” Dean replies breathlessly. “Big guy. Dad hired him a couple summers ago. Twenty-something. Always thought I was real pretty… taught me how to be good.”_ _

_ _

_ _Castiel’s eyes narrow. “You just turned eighteen.” _ _

_ _

_ _“Winchester Ranch operates in the winter, too, Sir,” Dean replies, the corner of his mouth tilting. “I had a real nice birthday.” _ _

_ _

_ _Possession flares through Castiel. Not that he expected Dean to be a virgin of sorts, in fact he’s definitely somewhat glad that Dean isn’t going into this clueless, because he’s a little too pent up to deal with someone learning the ins, outs, and intricacies of any sort of Dominant/Submissive relationship. And yet, imagining someone else’s hands on this beautiful boy has Castiel’s fingers tightening around his throat, pulling Dean into his space so close the boy’s bowed legs straddle one of Castiel’s thighs. _ _

_ _

_ _“Under my care, you put that man out of your mind. All you will know now is me.” _ _

_ _

_ _“Please,” Dean whispers, his hips rolling down against Castiel’s thigh. _ _

_ _

_ _He gives Dean’s windpipe a squeeze, delights in the whimper, and then abruptly lets Dean go. “You have chores to do, boy.”_ _

_ _

_ _Dean only stumbles briefly, before he takes a full step back and a deep breath in. He clears his throat, rubs at his neck idly, and then sends Castiel a shit-eating grin. “See you at lunch, Sir.”_ _

_ _

_ _“When you come in, use the shower in the main floor bathroom and follow the instructions I will leave in there for you,” Castiel says as he moves around the desk to return to his chair. He sits down, picking up his glasses and perching them on his nose. “Then you may join me for lunch.”_ _

_ _

_ _“Yes, Sir.” _ _

_ _

_ _Dean leaves without fanfare, and when Castiel is alone in his office, he mulls over his thoughts. Having confirmation that Daphne is, indeed, having an affair is probably something he should bring up with her, but at the same time… if she goes on in ignorant bliss, thinking Castiel none the wiser, she’ll continue to spend time with Mr. Crowley and leave Castiel to his own devices. Moreso than usual, if her pattern of staying out later and going out more frequently upholds. With this extra private time, he can indulge in Dean. And if this little meeting this morning is anything to go by, Castiel anticipates becoming _very_ satisfied, possibly even - dare he think it - happy with Dean. Castiel is at the height of his virility. It would be stupid to let this opportunity pass him by. Especially an opportunity that allows Castiel to finally be what he’s always wanted to be. He's done so much research, indulged in so many fantasies..._ _

_ _

_ _He glances at the locked drawer of his desk that holds the permission to wreck Dean from the inside out. _ _

_ _

_ _Yes. Everyone will be satisfied._ _

_ _

_ _\--_ _

_ _

_ _At lunch Dean wanders into the kitchen, showered, barefoot, and wearing Castiel’s clothes - sweatpants with the drawstring done tight to keep them on his narrow hips, and a plain white t-shirt. Castiel glances up and feels that flash of possession again, nodding his head towards the table where Dean takes a seat._ _

_ _

_ _“Thanks for letting me shower,” Dean says. “I always felt real bad comin’ in here all covered in dirt.”_ _

_ _

_ _“So long as you’re done with your chores for the day, there’s no need for you to sit in filth,” Castiel says as he finishes preparing their lunch. Cold soba noodles with zucchini, mushrooms, and a sesame-soy sauce blend. He sets Dean’s bowl in front of him and then takes his seat opposite, picking up his fork._ _

_ _

_ _“Tell ya what, that mighta been the best shower of my life,” Dean says gratefully. “Water pressure was amazin’.” _ _

_ _

_ _Castiel smiles indulgently, “I will expect you to shower every day before lunch, from now on. Feel free to bring a toiletry bag.” _ _

_ _

_ _Dean chews his lip, then nods and picks up his fork, poking at the noodles curiously. “Didn’t know you could eat noodles cold.”_ _

_ _

_ _“It’s a good, filling dish for hot weather,” Castiel says. _ _

_ _

_ _“Don’t think I’ve ever ate this good in my life,” Dean confesses._ _

_ _

_ _Hearing the praise for his shower and his food has Castiel wondering what type of life Dean leads at home, while caring for the ranch and for his brother. Dean is a little on the skinny side, a side effect from working too hard and not eating enough food throughout the day, Castiel thinks. For a moment, Castiel considers deepening the conversation. Considers asking after his family, his home habits, his relationship with his dad. But when Dean falls quiet and starts eating in earnest, Castiel decides to hold his inquiries to himself. He doesn’t need to pry into the boy’s life and try to offer council; he doesn’t need to know any sordid details that may or may not make him angry. What basis does he have to take this boy’s personal life… personally? Castiel is his employer and potential bed mate. And Dean seems happy and healthy enough._ _

_ _

_ _Yes, it would be wise to not stick his nose where it doesn’t belong._ _

_ _

_ _He can, however, give Dean another helping of food and refill his water glass. He doesn’t need to verbally ask after the boy in order to take care of him._ _

_ _

_ _Both Castiel and Dean clear the dishes away. There’s a moment where, while they’re drying their hands, that they hold each other’s gaze and size each other up. Castiel knows there’s no mistaking his intentions towards the boy, and Dean’s smart, so surely he knows the ball is in his court now. Dressed down in Castiel’s lounge clothes he looks much softer around the edges, the lack of toolbelt and grimy denim not missed but not yearned for, either. _ _

_ _

_ _It’s Dean who speaks first._ _

_ _

_ _“Sir,” he says, moving towards the sparkling clean island, running his fingers along the granite top. Castiel is all ears as Dean shifts and smoothly hops up onto the counter, wiggling on his rear a bit before spreading his legs invitingly, leaning back on his hands. “D’you wanna fuck me on this?” _ _

_ _

_ _Heat flashes through Castiel’s body, settling in his core as his cock thickens in response. His eyes narrow, his fingers flex, and he allows his gaze to sweep over Dean’s body. He’s much too small for Castiel’s clothes, the collar of the t-shirt exposing one sweet, freckled, tantalizing shoulder, and Castiel wastes no time in stepping between Dean’s legs. Those bowed beauties wrap around his waist eagerly, Dean reaching up to slide his palms over Castiel’s chest, loosening his tie as they lean in close enough to share breaths, but not touch lips. _ _

_ _

_ _“Bet your wife never wants to fuck anywhere but the bedroom, huh?” Dean continues, his tone of voice egging on the accusation. “Fuck her on the bed in missionary. She probably doesn’t even let you cum inside her.” _ _

_ _

_ _Castiel finally puts his hands on Dean’s body; one big palm wraps around his slender throat, the other hand tugging that torturous collar down so Castiel can seal his lips to Dean’s clavicle. He didn’t think bringing up his wife would be anything but a boner killer, but Dean is full of surprises, and apparently so is Castiel’s libido._ _

_ _

_ _Tossing his head back with a breathy moan, Dean chuckles. “That’s it, huh? She doesn’t let you pump her full of cum, won’t let you fill her up and stuff her good. Makes you wear a condom for easy cleanup. S’why you had me get tested.” He gets Castiel’s tie undone but leaves it hanging, fingers slightly shaky as they start popping the buttons of Castiel’s shirt, while Castiel sinks his teeth into soft flesh, biting, teasing, nipping. “I want it. I want your cum, Sir. I want you to breed me-” his words get cut of briefly when Castiel squeezes his throat, and then continue when it’s released. “-Ngh, fuck. I’m a cumslut, Sir, and you can fuck me anywhere inside or outside of the house, any way you want.” _ _

_ _

_ _“Did that bear teach you to have such a filthy mouth?” Castiel growls against Dean’s skin. _ _

_ _

_ _Dean’s hands reach up to tangle into the thick of Castiel’s hair as he replies in a smug, bratty tone, “That’s all me, Sir.”_ _

_ _

_ _Tightening his grip on Dean’s throat Castiel pulls away so he can level Dean with his gaze, watching the boy’s cheeks heat in response to being scrutinized so closely. “I want you to understand, Dean, that I am going to use you in ways you have never been used before. Whatever that bear may or may not have done to you, _I_ intend to break your brattiness. Over my knee, if I have to.” _ _

_ _

_ _Dean’s pupils dilate, swallowing up the spring green of his eyes, his lips parting as he takes in shallow breaths. He, smartly, stays quiet, even though there’s a spark of defiance in his pretty eyes. _ _

_ _

_ _“What is your safeword?” _ _

_ _

_ _“Impala,” Dean breathes._ _

_ _

_ _Castiel seals their mouths in a kiss, hands dropping down to Dean’s narrow waist to drag him properly to the edge of the island. Dean goes willing, mouth yielding to Castiel’s, his lips oh-so soft, swelling quickly and plumping up with every nip of Castiel’s teeth. Castiel feels a fire in him that he’s only felt once before, in the very distant past, and only briefly. Back then it had been a firework popping into existence, bright, hot, beautiful, and fleeting. But right here, right now, with Dean arching into him and letting out little soft, breathy pants, Castiel feels an _inferno_, embers stoking with each touch, kiss, noise. This will not burn out, not immediately, and their kisses are wildfire but Castiel is drowning, just as hungry as Dean, swallowing his noises, hands bruising on his hips and waist, fingertips pressing into the soft flesh to leave indentations and wrinkle the t-shirt. They part for air and Dean looks kissed stupid, lashes fluttering, expression dazed as he regards Castiel with wonder. _ _

_ _

_ _Taking a moment to gather his breath, Castiel lifts his hands to cup either side of Dean’s face, pressing their foreheads together. He inhales deeply, exhales slowly, and repeats the process until Dean is breathing in time with him. There’s no going back from this. Castiel will be cheating on his wife, and even though he knows she is having an affair of her own, it feels so… illicit. So illicit, wrong, and dirty, it ramps up the heat inside him. Dean is so young. So pretty. He gathers his stray thoughts, focuses his distraction, and then presses a soft, wet kiss to Dean’s mouth. _ _

_ _

_ _“I’m going to make you come,” Castiel murmurs, voice low, his stubbly chin scraping gently against Dean’s perfectly smooth skin, “and if you’re a good boy I’ll let you have a treat.” _ _

_ _

_ _Dean’s hands fly backward to support himself when Castiel lets go of him and spreads his thighs obscenely wide, palms on the meaty underside, eyes drinking in the way the borrowed sweatpants are tented with his hard cock. There’s a wet spot forming, the heather grey turning dark, but Castiel ignores it for now to instead ruck up Dean’s t-shirt to his armpits, starting to press kisses across his chest. Dean huffs a few breaths, adjusts his position to one elbow so he can lift a hand and return his fingers to Castiel’s hair, carding through the thick locks and gripping tight in intervals as Castiel moves across his chest. _ _

_ _

_ _Dean’s body is athletic with youth and hard work, but there are still a few soft spots; his pectorals, where Castiel sucks multiple hickies, and his tummy, just below his navel. Castiel’s lips brush against a nipple and Dean hisses through his teeth, arching into the touch, his body seeking more. Chuckling lowly, Castiel lolls his tongue around the perky bud before he sucks it into his mouth, applying suction like he’s trying to get something out of it. It drives Dean wild, his body trembling, both hands in Castiel’s hair now, Castiel keeping his legs straight to counterbalance taking on Dean’s weight. He moves his attention to the other nipple, his fingers coming up to toy with the wet one, pulling, pinching, tugging. _ _

_ _

_ _“I’m- Ca- S-Sir, I’m gonna- please-” _ _

_ _

_ _Driven to the edge already, Dean can’t stop squirming. Letting out a contemplative hum, Castiel pulls away from Dean’s chest, taking in the mottled bruises in the shape of his teeth. He’d gotten carried away, but Dean looks pleased as he dips his chin to take in the sight, his freckled skin otherwise flushed, a light sheen of sweat across his forehead. _ _

_ _

_ _“S’long as my dad can’t see ‘em it’s fine,” Dean says, moving a hand to trace one of the bruises. _ _

_ _

_ _“I would prefer you to not bring up your father when I’m about to perform fellatio on you,” Castiel says as he grabs the waistband of Dean’s sweats, hitchin them down so he can watch Dean’s cock bounce free, the tip slapping his tummy and leaving behind a shiny trail. _ _

_ _

_ _“Really?” Dean snorts. “Fellatio_ooooh_!”_ _

_ _

_ _Whatever smart reply Dean was about to spew gets overtaken with a long, drawn out moan as Castiel ducks his head to swallow him halfway. He works his tongue, gathers spit, breathing in the scent of the guest soap and the heady farm scent that will likely never be scrubbed clean from Dean’s skin. Dean falls back on his elbows and it has to hurt, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he drops his head back, hanging it between his shoulders so he can moan up at the industrial lights hanging over the island. Once Castiel is satisfied that Dean is slick enough he pulls back, drooling a mixture of saliva and precum down onto the flushed tip, watching it glob and drip down the side over where his fingers are curled at the base. _ _

_ _

_ _Dean has a lovely cock. Longer than it is thick, cut, and standing proud over tight, smooth balls. He shaves. Castiel wants to spread him wide open to see if he’s hairless everywhere, but the sweats are in the way and he’s too, ahem, hungry to wait. He jacks Dean’s wet cock a few times before he leans in, breathing in through his nose and relaxing his throat as he swallows him down. Dean yelps in surprise, falling flat onto his back as his hands shoot towards Castiel’s hair to grip tightly. There’s a stutter in his hips already, and Castiel wonders when the last time Dean had a blowjob was, and if it was any good, because he can tell Dean is close to orgasm just a few minutes in. _ _

_ _

_ _Pulling off enough so he can speak clearly, when Castiel addresses Dean he does so with his lips dragging across Dean’s slit with every word. “You may come whenever you’re ready.”_ _

_ _

_ _“Oh thank fuck,” Dean rushes out to breathe, before correcting himself. “Thank you Sir, oh my fuck, please, please-” _ _

_ _

_ _A few aborted thrusts of his hips while Castiel sucks on the head and drops a finger down to press against his smooth perineum has Dean climaxing with a shout, his fingers so tight in Castiel’s hair his scalp is surely going to tingle for a few hours. Castiel allows Dean to fill his mouth, and once his cock stops pulsing he pulls away, making sure to lick it clean; he reaches up to grab Dean by the back of his neck, hauling him up and crushing their mouths together. Dean lets out a satisfied groan, his tongue helping Castiel’s pass his cum back and forth, tasting it thoroughly until there’s nothing left. Their arms wrap around each other and Castiel tucks Dean’s face into his neck so he can regulate his breathing, enjoying the feel of Dean happily snuggling closer. _ _

_ _

_ _“If that’s what you can do with a blowjob, I dunno if I’m gonna stay sane,” Dean says, boneless as Castiel rubs his hands soothingly over his back. _ _

_ _

_ _Chuckling, Castiel finds himself smiling as a stab of pride flashes through him. “You did very good, Dean.” _ _

_ _

_ _He feels Dean’s lips purse against his skin. “Do I get a treat?” _ _

_ _

_ _Reaching blindly for the dish towel he’d discarded earlier, he snags it off of the oven handle and brings it up to dry off his hands. Once they’re wiped he pulls Dean out of the comfort of his throat, stroking his thumb over a flushed cheekbone, watching the way Dean’s sleepy eyes track over his features in reply. _ _

_ _

_ _“Next time,” Castiel finally decides. “You’re very tired.” _ _

_ _

_ _“Doesn’t take a lotta effort to just hold my mouth open,” Dean grouses, but he ends up looking like a grumpy kitten. _ _

_ _

_ _“I would rather treat us both to some relaxation,” Castiel admits. “I’ve been told I’m very bad at it.” _ _

_ _

_ _The smile that lights up Dean’s features is brighter than any fireworks Castiel thought he may have seen in someone else in the past. _ _

_ _

_ _Oh, no._ _

_ _

_ _“I’m an _expert_ at maxin’ and relaxin’,” Dean says, wiggling forward. Castiel moves away so he can right his sweatpants and hop off of the counter, grabbing Castiel’s hand and tugging him. “You have, like, six living rooms though, so-?” _ _

_ _

_ _“We have a formal sitting room, a lounge, and an entertainment area,” Castiel says. “Don’t exaggerate.”_ _

_ _

_ _“I’m not the one with three living rooms,” Dean counters. With a little nudge from Castiel he leads them down the correct hallway, Castiel watching Dean’s eyes take in all the details of his home. _ _

_ _

_ _Daphne had been in charge of decorating. Lots of religious paintings and sculptures make up the decor, along with brighter colors to make every area seem bigger than it actually is. If Castiel had a say, the paintings would be Van Gogh, and the color palette of the house would be earth tones. But he doesn’t have a say. _ _

_ _

_ _Dean doesn’t say anything, either, until they’re in the entertainment area._ _

_ _

_ _“Y’know for a hermit you sure got a lotta good shit in here,” Dean says, letting go of Castiel’s hand so he can move towards the entertainment unit, dropping into a crouch to start rifling through the DVD’s._ _

_ _

_ _“Just because I prefer to be secluded doesn’t mean I lack the means to stay entertained,” Castiel says. He moves to sit on the couch, taking a moment to do his tie back up again and then he leans back, an arm lifting to drape along the back cushions. _ _

_ _

_ _Dean falls quiet, but Castiel can sense he’s holding something back as he takes a bit too long perusing through all of the gadgets and accessories on the entertainment unit._ _

_ _

_ _“Dean?” _ _

_ _

_ _“Da- Mrs. Novak, um,” Dean clears his throat. “She made it sound like you never leave your office.” _ _

_ _

_ _“Despite being the owner of a company, even I am a slave to corporate from seven-to-five every day.” Castiel says casually, drawing an ankle up over his knee. _ _

_ _

_ _“S’a really long day,” Dean mutters. He finally plucks a Blu-Ray from the shelf and then hunts for the remotes, figuring out the system quicker than Castiel had when they first purchased it. Once everything is set up to go Dean hops back towards the couch and then plops onto it, a respectable distance between his body and Castiel’s, and he props his elbow up on the arm, chin in hand as he relaxes._ _

_ _

_ _Well- he seemingly relaxes. At a glance Castiel can see the tension in his shoulders._ _

_ _

_ _“Dean.” _ _

_ _

_ _“Mm.” _ _

_ _

_ _“Look at me.” _ _

_ _

_ _Dean’s jaw tenses slightly and then he turns his head, resting his cheek in his palm as he regards Castiel with slightly wary eyes. Castiel doesn’t like that look._ _

_ _

_ _“From twelve thirty-five p.m. to four p.m. you are mine,” Castiel says. His arm is still draped over to the back of the couch, his fingers wiggling invitingly. “Please do not misconstrue my intentions. As long as we are alone together you may act as you see fit.”_ _

_ _

_ _The boy licks his lips, his brow furrowing slightly in thought. “Isn’t this just a sex thing?” _ _

_ _

_ _Castiel contemplates Dean’s question, and then chooses his own words very, very carefully. “If you’re amenable, Dean, I would like to enter a relationship of sorts with you.”_ _

_ _

_ _“I’m just a kid,” Dean argues, but there’s something igniting in his eyes as he looks at Castiel. “What kinda relationship could you have with me?” He drops his gaze briefly, plucking at the hem of his borrowed shirt. “Not really good for much but cleanin’ up after barn animals and sucking dick.”_ _

_ _

_ _“Considering I have yet to have your lips on me, I am sure I am making a sound judgment in what I would like from you,” Castiel says wryly. _ _

_ _

_ _“I’m serious, man,” Dean says, lifting his gaze back to Castiel’s. “I’m a kid, and you’re married, and you’re really fuckin’ hot and I don’t mind bein’ your booty call or whatever but I dunno if a, a, _relationship_ is exactly smart.” _ _

_ _

_ _“Because of my wife?” _ _

_ _

_ _“Because of a lot of things!” Dean throws his hands up, then scrubs a hand over his mouth, gathering his thoughts and frowning at the coffee table. _Space Balls_ starts playing on the television quietly. “Your wife, definitely. Man, even though she’s seeing that weird Crowley guy, she’s still your wife, and you’re still her husband. She’s a nice lady. She’s still gonna want to-” he swallows. “-to fuck in missionary every Sunday even if it’s not that great, and I…” _ _

_ _

_ _Castiel’s head tilts. “These worries should have been aired before we had sex, Dean.” _ _

_ _

_ _“I like dick!” Dean tosses his hands up again, before putting a palm over his eyes and sinking back into the couch. “I’m a greedy kid, Cas. Ever since Benny left I just… nothing’s good enough, y’know?” His hand wipes down the side of his face, his eyes on the ceiling. “Tried dating a chick for a few weeks but she was boring. And she caught me-” his cheeks flush. “She uh, caught me wearing panties an’ asked if I was gay an’ it was this whole thing…” the longer Dean talks, and the more emotional he gets, the more that sweet Texan twang falls from his lips. As a Boston native, Castiel finds it charming beyond measure. “I ain’t gay. But I know what I want now.” _ _

_ _

_ _Castiel tucks the panty information away for later, figuring it in bad taste to try and follow up on it during this particular conversation. Clearly Dean has a lot on his mind and no one to talk to. Adjusting his position, Castiel keeps an arm draped across the back of his couch but leans his body language towards Dean, open and inviting, his free hand dropping to where his ankle rests on his knee. _ _

_ _

_ _“Benny was the bear?” _ _

_ _

_ _“Yeah.” Dean says gruffly. _ _

_ _

_ _“Tell me about him.”_ _

_ _

_ _Dean eyes Castiel warily. “You said to forget about him.”_ _

_ _

_ _“I think it’s best, for now, that we talk about him. He helped you discover something about yourself that will define the rest of your life for you, Dean. It’s very rare to find that thing at your age.” He drums his fingers over his ankle idly, feeling a bit of anger in the pit of his stomach. “I do find it in bad taste that he left you before you could fully come to terms with what he’d initiated with you, and I would like to help you work through things.” _ _

_ _

_ _Green eyes squint at Castiel. Dean clearly has a hard time trusting anyone, if his closed off body language is anything to go by, a far cry from the wanton boy begging for cum just thirty minutes ago. Castiel doesn’t know Dean like the back of his hand, but he’s learned enough over the past few weeks of Dean just being around the farm and their limited interactions. Castiel may be a hermit, but he’s an excellent judge of character, able to learn a lot about a person with minimal information. And learning that this Benny had shown Dean a few ropes and then left him hanging has Castiel worried, and angry, along with a deeper part of him that wants to mend what fractured pieces of Dean there are. _ _

_ _

_ _“I will never ask anything of you that makes you uncomfortable,” Castiel says, “and if I do, you are more than welcome to say no. Let us put Benny out of our minds for now,” he decides. “Tell me what you know about BDSM.” _ _

_ _

_ _Dean licks his lips, Castiel’s eyes tracking the movement unbidden. Dean’s body language relaxes every so slightly, but his little ticks - touching his mouth, licking his lips - are all very distracting. Castiel has to work hard to focus on the conversation and not how much he wants to pin Dean down to the couch and mark him with cum. _ _

_ _

_ _“Did some research,” the boy says with a shrug. “Joined a forum. Figured out I’m a Sub.” _ _

_ _

_ _Castiel nods. “What does being a Sub entail?”_ _

_ _

_ _Dean cuts him a glance, seemingly gauging if Castiel is mocking him or genuinely asking. Whatever he sees when he meets Castiel’s gaze has him continuing, though, as his gaze drops and he continues to fidget with the hem of his shirt. _ _

_ _

_ _“Subs um, they’re submissive to a Dom. They put all their trust into their Dom and um… consensually do whatever the Dom wants. Dom/Sub relationships vary in intensity and uh, usually they… Scene when they wanna have release. Some Dom/Sub relationships are twenty-four-seven though, the uh, romantic ones I guess.” _ _

_ _

_ _“Good,” Castiel praises softly. “I’m glad you found correct and healthy information on the internet. Some sites can lead curious minds astray with gross misinterpretations of the lifestyle.” After a beat, Castiel says, “Tell me what about this lifestyle appeals to you. Take Benny out of the equation and tell me what it gives you.” _ _

_ _

_ _Dean closes his eyes and sinks into the couch a bit. “Look, I uh. I’ve got a good home life, y’know? My daddy ain’t an asshole but he’s a hard ass and he intends on leavin’ me the ranch. So he works me harder than Sammy - my brother - ‘cause I got the responsibility of the ranch and learnin’ how to run it.” A small smile curls on his lips. “Sammy’s got big plans. Wants to be a lawyer. So, um, farm life… doesn’t really fit into that picture, y’know? Not when he’s gonna go off to some fancy college outta state.” Castiel hums to show he’s listening. “Anyway, my life is pretty controlled. I did decent in school, nothin’ to write home about, I’ll be able to go to the community college and get a degree if I want. Somethin’ to help me with the ranch, business or agriculture or some shit so I can have somethin’ shiny to hang up on the wall and brag about when tryna get people to do business with me. And even though I come here to do work, man…” he lets out a breathy chuckle. “Is it a nice change of pace. Y’alls stock is tiny compared to ours. Takin’ care of three horses and half a chicken coop ain’t a big deal. Like takin’ after pets. I can breathe and relax when I’m here.” He chews his lower lip idly. “Then I go home and take on the big farm.” _ _

_ _

_ _Castiel desperately wants to scoot closer to Dean and offer some physical comfort, but he refrains for now, instead absorbing all the information that Dean is handing over to him. _ _

_ _

_ _“Anyway, uh. The lifestyle. Taking what little I knew and then readin’ up about it, I guess… the release. Y’know? Not like- orgasm or whatever. But bein’ able to _give_ someone the reins instead of just havin’ ‘em taken away from me is… kinda nice. ‘Cause in the end I’m still callin’ the shots even with a Dom in the room.”_ _

_ _

_ _“That is important information for you to know,” Castiel agrees and praises. “Many people mistake the Dom for being in control. A Dom is only in control of what the Sub allows them to be in control of.” _ _

_ _

_ _Dean nods. “Yeah. So it’s- less scary, y’know? It’s loss of control in a controlled environment. And I know that um, not every scene involves sex and stuff…” he trails off, his cheeks flaming pink. _ _

_ _

_ _“Good boy, Dean,” Castiel finds himself praising again. “You are very knowledgeable of the situation and I am glad for it. This means you can make educated decisions and be aware of what is right or wrong.”_ _

_ _

_ _“Anyway, I um. I guess when you say the word ‘relationship’ I think of like, buyin’ flowers and fancy dinner dates…”_ _

_ _

_ _“Like a boyfriend?”_ _

_ _

_ _“Yeah,” Dean breathes, some tension leaving his shoulders._ _

_ _

_ _Castiel regards him thoughtfully, and before he can reply, Dean is speaking again._ _

_ _

_ _“Really, Cas. I’m just a farm boy and all I got goin’ for me is that I’m a good lay. I’m cool with scening with you, and taking you on as my Dom, but you don’t wanna d-date,” his voice drops to almost a whisper, “a kid.” _ _

_ _

_ _“I don’t appreciate your self-deprecation,” Castiel says smoothly, “but that is something we’ll address at a later time. For now, I believe I am the one in charge of making my own decisions. The thought of dating clearly makes you uncomfortable, so we can put that subject away for now.”_ _

_ _

_ _“It’s your wife, man,” Dean says, tipping his head back and sighing. “This is kind of a mess, y’know?” _ _

_ _

_ _“I’m aware,” Castiel replies. “And if the time ever comes, _I_ will deal with it.”_ _

_ _

_ _Dean’s head turns on the cushion, his eyes unguarded and soft as he regards Castiel. “Yes, Sir.” _ _

_ _

_ _Satisfied, Castiel sends Dean a little smile, enjoying the way Dean’s plush, still-swollen lips curl in reply. “As for our arrangement: Monday through Friday, from the time lunch begins until the time you are to go home. Does that work?” _ _

_ _

_ _Dean’s smile widens slightly. “Yes, Sir.”_ _

_ _

_ _“Would you like it in writing?” _ _

_ _

_ _“No, Sir, your word is your oath.” _ _

_ _

_ _Castiel falls quiet, regarding the boy in front of him. For all Dean thinks so little of himself, he’s brilliant, smart, and captivating. Finally he gives into his craving, lifting the hand from his ankle to gesture for Dean to come to him. Like he’d been waiting for permission the whole time Dean quickly moves to Castiel’s side, burrowing into the space like he was made to fit there, Castiel’s arm dropping from the back of the couch to wrap around Dean’s shoulders. _ _

_ _

_ _His wife is far, far from his mind when Dean starts quoting the movie, Castiel’s fingers tangled in his hair where he pets him affectionately._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I'm gonna finally write some hardcore BDSM, cut n dry, balls to the wall, no plot, just sex sex sex  
*twink Dean exists*  
*gentle Dom Cas exists*  
*in the same universe*  
Me: fine, ok


	3. Chapter 3

The rest of the week goes by beautifully. At lunch time every day Dean comes into the kitchen, freshly showered, reassured that Daphne doesn’t go into the main floor bathroom and therefore won’t know that he has a toiletry bag tucked underneath the sink. He had asked Castiel if he should bring a change of clothes but Castiel had told him that he much prefers to see Dean in his own clothing, and Castiel was very aware of the pleased grin Dean wore when he ducked his gaze in reply. Lunch is casual, either of them talking about their day, cleanup is easy, and then for the next two and a half hours their activities vary. They haven’t had sex since the island blowjob, which Castiel is more than fine with - easing Dean into comfort, of watching movies or listening to music while Castiel catches up on work (as lovely as it would be to cut his days in half, he simply cannot), or even going out to the quaint Novak farm to see what Dean is up to is time treasured, and an opportunity to build rapport. They exchange chaste kisses, Dean dutifully calls him Sir, and Castiel praises him when proper. 

When Daphne comes home early on Friday, Castiel and Dean had been prepared. Dean is back in his work clothes and boots, outside in the chicken coop, and Castiel is sitting at the kitchen table with his laptop, glasses on his face, top two buttons of his shirt undone and his sleeves rolled up.

Daphne looks surprised when she enters. Her auburn hair is pulled up into a chic bun, and her casual Friday wear consists of black denim, a pretty floral blouse, and heels. She sets the grocery bags in her arms on the counter and starts unpacking them, still glancing at Castiel. “Have you ever worked in the kitchen before?” 

“No,” Castiel replies, typing away. He glances up at Daphne with a small smile, “but someone keeps calling my office a hobbit hole, so I’ve decided to see the light of day for the first time in eons. It burns a little, but I will survive.” 

Daphne rolls her eyes and laughs a little. He feels a little bad about lying to her - he’s spent less time in his office this week than he ever has since taking over as CEO fifteen years ago - but everything needs to be neatly constructed when it comes to giving Daphne information. 

She hums while she puts groceries away. Daphne is a kind woman, warm and always ready with a smile; she’s good to Castiel, even-tempered and understanding. He doesn’t ever recall getting into an argument with her in the past fifteen years. They complement each other nicely, aside from their lack of chemistry in the bedroom. Seeing her flitting around the kitchen while Dean does whatever he’s doing outside has the tiniest of odd twists settling in Castiel’s stomach, and he squashes it down as he closes his laptop and stands. 

“Dean has been repairing the chicken coop,” Castiel says. “He would like to know what color you would like it to be painted.” 

“Oh!” Daphne grins in excitement. “Great.”

“I can finish this,” Castiel says, gesturing towards the groceries. 

Daphne passes by him and pats him on the chest. “Thanks, hon. It really is nice to see you out of your office before five, you know?” She gets up on her tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek before continuing on, the snick of the french doors signaling her leave. 

Castiel stares at the groceries. Daphne seems to be in a good mood today. More than usual. Is it because of Crowley, he wonders as he opens the fridge to start putting the vegetables in the proper drawer, or is she really that happy to see him out and about? Once everything is put away and he folds up the paper bags to be recycled, he moves towards the french doors, hands in his pockets as he peers outside. The chicken coop is rather close to the house, close enough that he can clearly see Dean and Daphne laughing about something. 

Turning away from the doors, Castiel grabs his laptop so he can take it back to his office. A few moments later he returns to the kitchen, the sound of Daphne’s tinkling laugh reaching his ears before he steps through the open archway. Dean is sitting on a stool at the island while Daphne separates ingredients for her best cookie recipe, the lemon meringue ones that Dean asks for every week without fail. Daphne’s cheeks are flushed and Dean has a cheeky smile on his features, which he directs to Castiel as soon as he enters. 

“Mr. Novak, please inform your wife that high heels do _not_ count as ‘casual Friday’ wear.” 

Seeing his wife and his affair laughing together makes Castiel freeze on the spot. Daphne reaches out and whacks Dean on the shoulder with her bare palm, and he whines, rubbing at the spot and complaining about a mild sunburn. They smile at each other in a way that reminds Castiel of a mother and son getting along, having a normal Friday afternoon in the kitchen, and the knot in Castiel’s belly moves up behind his sternum.

“He’s right,” Castiel says, clearing his throat so his words come out a bit smoother. “I’ve seen other professors wearing flip-flops on Fridays.” 

Daphne wrinkles her nose as she starts mixing dry ingredients in a bowl. “Wearing open-toed shoes on a campus that has a lunatic in the science department sounds exactly like what everyone _shouldn’t_ do.” 

“Professor Speight does have a hard time containing his experiments,” Castiel agrees. He sits next to Dean at the island after great deliberation, figuring it would look more suspicious if he left a stool between them. 

“And _he’s_ the one wearing the flip-flops!” Daphne laughs, shaking her head. This is the brightest Castiel has seen her in a while. She’s beautiful.

“There’s a mad scientist at the university?” Dean asks with a laugh. Their knees bump. “Shoot, I’d love to see that.” 

“Not only is he a mad scientist,” Daphne says as she mixes the wet and dry ingredients together, “he’s also a huge prankster. So far I haven’t been a target of anything serious but I’m pretty sure he chooses a new victim every six months. My time will come.” 

“That’s ominous,” Dean chuckles. 

Daphne shrugs, smiling. “He keeps things interesting, but I’ve learned to never accept any gifts of baked goods from him.”

“Oh no,” Dean laughs. “What happened?” 

“Well, he _said_ he’d figured out how to bake the perfect pie, one that reheats _just right_ in the oven long after it’d been baked.”

“Oh,” Castiel’s memory jogs, a smile curling his lips. “I remember this. When you put the pie in the oven it exploded.” 

“It EXPLODED,” Daphne laughs, nodding her head. “I was scraping burnt apples off of the racks for weeks.”

“I thought someone dropped a bomb on the house,” Castiel chuckles. “The boom was so loud, I was surprised the oven was still in one piece.” 

“Oh man,” Dean groans. “I can’t believe he defiled pie like that. I’d kill to be able to perfectly reheat a pie three days after it’s been baked.”

“Just means you gotta eat it while it’s good,” Daphne says with a wink. 

Daphne and Dean continue chatting while Daphne starts preparing the cookies to go into the oven. Castiel rests his elbow on the counter and his chin in his hand as he watches them interacting, unsure about the emotions warring in his chest. On the one hand, he loves that they get along so well. Dean has a charm about him, one that brings out the best in people, Castiel included. He brings warmth and joy into their normally tepid home; Castiel knows that Dean’s mother died when he was young, so it’s not surprising that he would take kindly to a woman of around the same age that gives him matronly affections. 

On the other hand, it’s a little terrifying. Castiel hadn’t been under the illusion that he’d be able to keep Dean and Daphne separate - she is the one who hired him, after all - but seeing them get along puts a very strange emotion in his chest. Although they had agreed on not having kids, Daphne is exceptional with them, and Dean is proof of that. She can tell he’s starved for a mother’s love, and Castiel knows that on top of giving Dean work on the farm she seems to have _purposely_ taken on a motherly role with him. 

It’s very conflicting. Castiel is entering a sexual relationship with a boy who clearly respects his wife - to a certain degree, anyway - and he knows that somewhere in Daphne’s mind, Dean is a surrogate for the child they agreed they’d never had. 

This is an unforeseen complication in their dynamic. 

It makes Castiel feel dirty.

It makes his cock plump up.

When Castiel tunes back into the conversation Daphne’s tablet is between her and Dean on the counter, both of them bent over it, their heads nearly touching.

“Next week when I come home, let’s do this together,” Daphne says. 

“Aw, Mrs. Novak, you don’t need me to do some painting,” Dean replies. 

She grins brightly up at him. “But it’s _fun_.” 

“I think I know someone who could use a little more fun in his life,” Dean says, eyes glimmering as he turns them towards Castiel.

Daphne follows his gaze, curiosity in her pretty hazel eyes as she considers Dean’s suggestion, like asking Castiel hadn’t been a thought in her mind. “Whaddya think, hon? Wanna help me and Dean paint the chicken coop next week?”

Castiel is suddenly very aware of what Dean is doing. He cuts his gaze to Dean, whose smile freezes up slightly on his face, but then Castiel sends a soft look towards Daphne, nodding his head. “I would like that. Have you chosen the color?”

She looks surprised at his agreement. So she hadn’t thought to ask Castiel, after all, because she clearly assumed he would decline her. “A few,” she says, pointing down at the swatches displayed on the tablet screen, a smile spreading on her lips. “I’m not super artsy but what if we tried to do a mural?”

“Are any of us artsy?” Dean asks with interest. “If you need somethin’ painted I can do it, but no fancy stuff.” 

“Castiel took a few art classes in college,” Daphne says with a playful glimmer in her eye. 

“That was a long time ago,” Castiel says, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“What?” Dean turns towards Castiel, his expression bright, curious, and excited. “Were you any good?”

“Dean,” Daphne hits him on the shoulder again, “art is _subjective_.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, and artists know their own talent.” 

“I was… alright,” Castiel says carefully. “But I haven’t painted since I graduated.” 

“Let’s do it,” Dean says with a grin. “D’you guys have a logo or anything?”

“What do you mean?” Daphne asks.

“Like- y’know. We got Winchester ranch, so our uhhhhh family crest or whatever is two Winchester rifles crossing,” Dean says, making an ‘x’ with his arms. “It’s on the archway leading into the ranch and also on our stamped envelopes, hangin’ above the barn door, and on the meat and dairy we package. That way everyone knows it’s us when they see that symbol somewhere.”

“Ooooh,” Daphne claps her hands. “You’re right! That’s a thing ranches do! I never thought about it.” 

“Y’all are private, so it’s not really necessary, but having an emblem like that is pretty cool,” Dean says, the smile on his face huge. He’s very proud of his ranch, Castiel knows. And he’s helping Daphne be proud of what they have, too.

Despite all the conflicting emotions raging through Castiel’s heart and mind, he knows in this moment that having Dean is a blessing. 

“I’ll do some doodling and thinking,” Daphne says, her voice still tinged with excitement. She looks at Castiel, “What about you babe? What do you think our logo should be?”

Castiel blinks, the ‘babe’ catching him off-guard. Daphne hasn’t called him that in over ten years. Collecting himself, he shrugs a shoulder. “Something to do with the sun.” He says, glancing over towards Dean, whose smile rivals the only star in their solar system. 

“Bright,” Daphne agrees. “Great! I’m so excited! I’ll order all the supplies and then on Friday, Dean, if you don’t mind staying through the evening, we can work on it.”

“I’m sure it won’t be a problem, ma’am,” Dean says with a nod.

Castiel thinks, dimly, in the back of his mind, that it might be.

\--

After the cookies are cooled and packaged up in the container Dean brings back every Monday to be reused again and again, Daphne excuses herself to go for a ride on one of the horses. Castiel walks Dean to the door, the silence between them stretching, and when they’re standing in the foyer Castiel lets out a short breath when Dean starts speaking. 

“I hope I didn’t overstep, Sir, I just thought it would be nice for you and Mrs. Novak to do something together-” 

“Dean.” 

The boy falls quiet, eyes on the floor as he holds the tupperware container in front of him like a shield. 

“I’m not mad.”

Dean’s eyes stay lowered. 

“Today is the first time I saw Daphne smile that much in… a long time,” Castiel says quietly. “As I said before, our marriage isn’t perfect, but I do love her, and want her to be happy. I’m not so disillusioned that I think there will be no complications from the three of us spending time together, but I also know that if I distance myself from the two of you when you’re together, it will be suspicious.” He lifts a hand to cup Dean’s jaw, tilting his head up so their eyes meet. “Look at me, boy.”

Dean’s eyes are bright, his brow still slightly creased in worry. Castiel’s other hand reaches up, his thumb gently smoothing away the lines in Dean’s soft skin. 

“What worries you?”

“You’re gonna fall back _in_ love with your wife and won’t want me anymore,” Dean says in a rush, much like how he’d confessed he knew about Daphne’s love affair, clearly afraid of the consequences of saying the words but needing to say them, anyway.

Castiel’s heart squeezes, “Oh, Dean.” He pulls Dean gently forward by the grip he has on his jaw, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. 

“Which is fine, ‘cause she’s your _wife_, and you deserve to be in a good marriage-”

“_Dean_.”

Dean’s eyes squeeze closed.

“Look at me.”

Very slowly, Dean flutters his lashes, revealing bright, verdant eyes. 

“Your actions and suggestions earlier made it seem as though you were trying to push Daphne and I closer together,” Castiel says.

Dean tenses slightly. Caught. “She’s a wonderful woman, Mr. Novak.” 

“A wonderful woman who is having an affair,” Castiel gently reminds Dean. “You might think you understand us, but you do not, and I would appreciate you not involving yourself in our relationship.”

Properly chastised, Dean lowers his gaze to Castiel’s chest. Better than the floor, at least. “Sorry, Sir.” 

“Daphne is very fond of you,” Castiel says softly, thumb stroking over Dean’s jaw, “and I know you like her very much. There is nothing wrong with that.” 

“It’s not weird?” Dean asks.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Castiel replies, even though there’s still that weird tension behind his sternum. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” Dean says quietly. “She really is cool. I like spending time with her, and I like spending time with you, so…” he shrugs, trailing off.

That tension loosens slightly. Castiel presses another chaste kiss to Dean’s forehead before pulling away. “Then on Friday we will paint the chicken coop together.” 

Dean fidgets with the tupperware before he finally lifts his gaze back to Castiel’s. “She- she reminds me of my mom.”

“I thought she might,” Castiel says with a nod. 

“_That_ is kinda weird,” Dean says with a little chuckle.

Castiel shrugs. “Perhaps a little. But Dean, outside of our agreement, this place is a refuge for you - you’ve said so. That includes my small farm and my wife, and that is alright, because you are finding fulfillment here. Which you deserve.” 

Dean flushes. “Dunno about that…”

“Do not argue with me your worth,” Castiel chastises firmly. 

“Yes, Sir,” Dean mumbles.

After a pause, Castiel asks, “Have you participated in anal sex?”

Dean’s flush brightens in intensity as he whips his gaze up towards Castiel’s face, embarrassment written over his features. “What-”

“If you are a virgin I would like to know before engaging in further activities so that I make sure I don’t hurt you. I have a proclivity for being… rough.” Castiel continues. 

Scrubbing a hand over his mouth, after a few breaths Dean grumbles. “Yeah, I’ve done it.”

“And?” 

“And what?” Dean asks, exasperated.

“Not all men enjoy penetration,” Castiel continues patiently. “I simply wish to know if you enjoyed it, or if you preferred to be the one doing the penetration.”

Dean’s hand wanders all over his face, smushing up his features in a manner that’s entirely too adorable, a groan leaving his lips. “God, you’re so weird-”

“Answer me, boy.”

“I liked it!” Dean says loudly, then hushes himself as his blush intensifies impossibly further. “Only did it a couple times but I liked it. I uh, never got a chance to… do it to someone else. Another guy.”

“Is that something you are interested in?” 

Dean frowns up at Castiel. “What?”

“Would you be interested in doing the penetration?”

“Wish you’d stop using that word,” Dean grumbles, and then sighs. “Yeah, I’ve thought about it, but uh, I’m the Sub, remember?”

“Just because you are submissive does not mean you are exclusively a bottom,” Castiel says simply. “Just as being a Dom doesn’t make one exclusively a top.”

“Do you-” Dean swallows, licks his lips, squeezes the container in his hands. “Do you like… being…”

“Penetrated?” Castiel asks, a wry, amused smile on his lips when Dean’s nose wrinkles. “I do enjoy it. I’m quite partial to switching.” 

A short breath leaves Dean’s lips, Castiel watching as his pupils dilate. “Oh.” 

“But I am relieved to hear you aren’t a virgin. Not that it would complicate matters, but it does make me more comfortable… jumping straight into a few things, so to speak.” 

“Not really sure this is the best conversation to have in your foyer,” Dean says, still clearly embarrassed and caught off-guard by the subject change. 

“I’ll have whatever conversation with you, wherever I so please,” Castiel says elegantly. 

“Yes, Sir,” Dean replies, just as elegantly. 

“Perfect.” Castiel leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s cheek. “Off you go, I’ve kept you long enough.”

Dean smiles small as Castiel opens the front door, and before he leaves, Dean sends Castiel a glance over his shoulder. “Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel softens around the edges. “You’re welcome, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one today.   
Thank you all so so much for your comments & love! This fic reads a little different from my usual stuff, not only in content but flow. It was a fun step out of my comfort zone and I'm so glad y'all love it ❤  
PS, I love Daphne in this story for some reason. I wonder what her version of events is...?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for hetero sex between Daphne and Cas in the first part of the story. You can skip to the ***** if it's not your jam!  
Update today because yesterday's chapter was more puny than I remembered it being lol

The weekend passes, and it’s unlike any weekend he’s had recently, or perhaps even in the past fifteen years. On Saturday morning Daphne wakes up early and rouses Castiel, announcing she would like to go to the farmer’s market. Normally she does that sort of thing alone, but she’d woken Castiel up to invite him, and so they’d gone together, enjoying the sunshine as they filled up their green cloth bags. They sampled fruits, tasted honey, decided what flowers to plant in the front garden of their house. They’d eaten lunch at a bistro and took their afternoon home, where they both worked on pruning and taking care of the landscaping in the front yard. Dinner was spaghetti squash and vegan meatballs, especially delectable with how fresh the ingredients were from the market. They watched a movie on the couch, and when they laid down for bed that night, Daphne tucked herself into Castiel’s side, curling up against him and falling asleep quickly.

Sunday morning she woke up before Castiel to make breakfast and prepare coffee, moving around as though she did this every weekend. She did not. Castiel did not. Saturday could be considered a date, really, one that continued into Sunday, and while Castiel enjoyed this easy companionship, there was a part of him trying to figure out what had changed.

Sunday night in the bedroom, Castiel lies in bed in his underwear while Daphne comes out of the bathroom wearing one of her silk, beautiful negligees. She moves to the bed and crawls onto it; when Castiel shifts to move, however, she puts a hand on his chest to keep him in his prone position as she swings a leg over his hips, settling down against his groin. 

“You’ve changed,” Daphne says softly, running her small palms over Castiel’s broad chest. 

Castiel’s heart trips in his chest, and he desperately hopes she hadn’t felt it. “How so?” 

“You’re more relaxed,” Daphne explains, a small smile on her lips. “When I come home during the week you’re already out of the office and you don’t look like you’re about to murder someone. And yesterday…” she lets out a happy sigh. “I always want you to come to the market with me, because I know you love cooking so much, but you’re still usually in your office.” 

Castiel relaxes marginally. He knows what Daphne is saying; he’s becoming more and more _human_, and less of a machine. He can’t help but let a small smile filter over his lips, his big hands resting on her thighs where they lay on either side of his hips. 

“It’s Dean, isn’t it?” Daphne asks. For a heart stopping moment Castiel thinks she’s going to call him out, but she’s still smiling softly. “It’s hard to be cranky when he’s around. I knew he’d be good for the farm. For you.” Her smile turns a little shy. “For us.” 

Castiel’s thumbs start idly stroking Daphne’s smooth skin. “He’s a very good kid. He brings joy with him wherever he goes.”

“When he answered to my ad, I knew I was gonna hire him immediately,” Daphne confesses. “I heard what happened to his mother. A boy needs…” she seems to think hard about her next words, almost as though she’s unsure she should say them. “His father is very tough on him. I think it’s good for him to have a woman’s attention, don’t you?”

Ah, the motherly role. Castiel had thought that it might just be happenstance, but now learning that Daphne had deliberately hired Dean to ease her way into his life as a mother figure isn’t that surprising. So he nods in reply, his hands inching up Daphne’s thighs. “I agree. You’re doing very well for him.”

Daphne beams. “And you’re doing very well by him too, Castiel. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you two have gotten close.”

Castiel continues to smile, because if he does anything else with his face he might give it away. His fingers finally reach the crease of where Daphne’s hips meet her thighs, and he presses gently into the soft flesh. “Are we going to continue talking about a child in our marital bed, or did you have other plans?” 

Daphne’s eyes darken, and looking up at her perched on his lap has Castiel’s cock hardening for once without needing to think about anything other than his wife. Missionary must be out of her mind because she grinds down against him, grabbing his wrists to bring his hands up towards the swell of her breasts, his palms full as he gives them a soft squeeze. She lets out a breathy moan and tips her head back, still smiling, her hips rocking lazily, encouraging Castiel’s cock to thicken underneath her body. Sitting up, he lifts her negligee over her head and tosses it aside, his mouth moving across her breasts, kissing and licking softly. Her fingers tangle in his hair briefly before she wiggles her hips, reaching down to start pushing Castiel’s underwear off his body. 

It’s an uncoordinated dance, and they laugh into each other’s mouths as they kiss, but soon they’re both naked and Castiel lies back on the bed, watching Daphne through dark eyes as she jerks his cock. Her grip isn’t tight enough, and she’s going too slow, but it’s nice to have her actually touching him, so he does his best to absorb the sensations. She still puts a condom on him, but she’s on top and she sinks down and he moans softly, the tightness off her warmth and how wet she gets always pleasurable. She sets the pace, rocking her hips, and Castiel grabs her waist to help her move, knowing that she won’t have the stamina to bounce on his cock like he really wants. When he reaches her fingers to her clit she doesn’t bat his hand away and he licks his thumb before pressing it to her, rubbing slowly at first, matching her thrusts. After a few moments his free hand grips her waist and he plants his feet, making her squeak in surprise as he starts fucking up into her, his thumb doing double time. She lets out a few moans, tosses her head back, and reaches back to hold onto Castiel’s knees to keep her upright as he chases his release. 

He feels her come for the first time in months. Maybe even years. She spasms and gasps and flexes around his cock and he chases that sensation, closing his eyes and tilting his head back as he fills the condom. He gives a few more lazy thrusts, and then when he relaxes down into the bed Daphne wastes no time in climbing off of him, gingerly pulling off the condom to dispose of it. Castiel stares at the ceiling in mild disbelief, catching his breath while Daphne uses the restroom. When she comes back into bed she snuggles up into his side, his arm automatically wrapping around her, and then she’s out like a light.

******

It wasn’t mind blowing sex, but it’s the best sex they’ve had in nearly the entirety of their marriage. 

Castiel isn’t sure what it means. 

He closes his eyes, and does his best to not think about Dean in the foyer, looking ready to accept rejection in the face of Castiel and Daphne’s marriage rekindling. 

This is, clearly, the beginning of the mess.

\--

On Monday Castiel feels out of sorts. Of course, there had been guilt going into a relationship with Dean, knowing that he would be cheating on his wife, but it had been alleviated in knowing Daphne was having an affair of her own. He hadn’t expected Daphne to warm up to him in the bedroom, or whisk him away for a cutesy weekend, and being alone with his thoughts and spreadsheets is a surefire way to get his brain firing on all cylinders on way too many things at the same time. 

A part of him knows that Daphne is keeping up appearances, too. He’s not naive. She, too, must be feeling some level of guilt for her affair and likely thinks that perhaps being overly romantic with Castiel would alleviate any suspicion. In any normal relationship, that would work. But Castiel knows about Mr. Crowley, thinks about defiling Dean regularly, and his marriage to Daphne simply isn’t, nor has it ever been, normal.

There’s the idle thought that Dean had been lying about Daphne’s affair. Castiel would like to think that Dean wouldn’t lie to him about something like that; especially since Dean had told him before they agreed on an arrangement. But if Dean had been keen on Castiel anyway, perhaps he felt he could move the ball along by informing Castiel that his wife is having an affair, and he therefore had nothing to lose by getting involved with Dean. 

He’s picking up his office phone before he realizes it, dialing the university’s number.

“Professor Speight’s extension, please,” Castiel says when the secretary picks up. “This is Castiel Novak.” 

There’s barely a wait before the line clicks over and he hears, “Cassie! To what do I owe this rare pleasure?” 

“Gabriel,” Castiel greets his cousin while pinching his nose. Conversations with Gabriel never end in anything but a headache. “I have an inquiry.”

“Me and the wife are fine, the kids are all alive, and I’ve managed to squirrel out of another misdemeanor. Thanks for asking, cuz!”

Stifling a sigh, Castiel tenses his jaw. “This is very important, Gabriel. I need you to tell me if Daphne is having an affair.”

“Woah, hold the phone,” Gabriel says. Castiel rolls his eyes, refusing to laugh at his cousin’s pun. “You think Daphne’s cheating on you?”

“My suspicions have been aroused, and I feel as though it might be another member of faculty,” Castiel says, purposely omitting that a third party had given him the information. 

“Well, shit,” Gabriel says plainly. “Y’know, her and that Crowley guy have gotten really close. They take lunch together almost every day, now that I think about it. They’re both in the same department so I didn’t think much of it, but now that you say something… He brings her flowers every Monday. She keeps them on her desk until Friday, and then he gives her a fresh batch the next week.” 

“So he’s, at the very least, sweet on her,” Castiel confirms.

“I guess. I’ve never seen anything illicit, though,” Gabriel sounds thoughtful, and then Castiel hears his fingers snap. “Tell ya what, Cassie, I’ll keep an eye on ‘em and report back to you.”

“That’s hardly necess-”

“You kiddin’ me? I’m on the DL for the last prank I did and I’m _bored_,” Gabriel’s tone gets whiny. “Spying on your hot wife would be a GREAT way to pass the time.” After a moment, Gabriel’s tone changes slightly. “Everything ok with you, buddy?” 

Castiel knows better than to share too many details with Gabriel, but he replies, “Our marriage has been… stagnant for a while. She has been increasing her hours during the week and coming home later, and I hate to be suspicious or accuse her of anything she isn’t doing, but, well.” 

“Yeah, I get you,” Gabriel says sympathetically. “I’ll check things out, cuz. Let me know if you need anything else, alright?” 

“Thank you, Gabriel,” Castiel says truthfully. “We’ll talk soon.” 

After the line goes dead Castiel stares at his phone. Crowley gets Daphne flowers every week. It’s not a billboard confession, but Castiel’s pretty sure that camaraderie between colleagues doesn’t require weekly gifts. Dean seeing Crowley and Daphne kissing seems more and more likely. Now Castiel feels like a heel for doubting Dean’s honesty; but he has a right to not take Dean for his word and do his own investigating when it comes to his own marriage. 

The next few hours pass quickly thanks to video conference calls and some executive decision making. When lunch time comes around Castiel is tense and rigid, his shoulders and neck sore and his mood foul. He’s building a pizza on some frozen pizza dough crust, focusing his irritation on slicing the vegetables perfectly and arranging them neatly on the thick bed of marinara sauce. 

“What did that pizza do to you?”

Dean’s voice causes Castiel to look up and search him out. He’s entering the kitchen wearing athletic pants that cling to him just right, Castiel having bought a few things online just for Dean. Seeing him wear his clothes is invigorating, but he doesn’t need Daphne asking why so many of his sweats and casual t-shirts are ending up in the laundry. The beige cowl-neck sweater offsets the tightness of the pants and Dean looks like a model out of a Calvin Klein magazine as he takes up a seat on a stool at the island. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

“Heya, Cas,” Dean greets casually. “You alright?” 

Castiel’s gaze flicks up towards Dean, who is smiling as casually as possible, even if there’s a curious glint in his eyes. Dean is much more perceptive than he leads on. “I’ve had a frustrating day.” 

“What can I do?” Dean asks, resting his elbows on the counter, chin in his hands. 

With Dean’s gentle inquiries Castiel feels the tension leaking from his pores, and he smiles to himself as he shakes his head. “Nothing in particular, Dean. Just you being here does wonders for me.” 

Dean drops a hand, drumming his fingers idly over the counter. “If you say so. But, uh, I think there are enough toppings on the pizza…” 

Castiel blinks, fully taking in the pizza. Every last inch of the pizza is covered in a beautiful pattern of vegetables and pepperoni, causing Castiel to let out a slightly breathless laugh at how loaded it is. “So it seems. I’ll put this in the oven, then.” Once that is taken care of Castiel rounds the island towards Dean, reaching out without prompting. Still on the stool Dean wraps his arms around Castiel’s waist, pillowing his head in the crook of his neck, snuggling as close as he can to Castiel. 

The difference between holding Daphne and Dean, Castiel thinks, is that Daphne cuddles him because it’s what a wife does, but Dean cuddles Castiel like he doesn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.

With his arms around Dean’s shoulders Castiel lifts a hand to run his fingers through the short hair at the base of his neck, his other hand wandering down his spine, feeling the softness of the sweater. “Do you like these clothes?”

“Not somethin’ I would pick for myself,” Dean says, voice muffled by the skin of Castiel’s throat. He presses a kiss there. “But I like ‘em. ‘Specially when you look at me while wearin’ ‘em.”

Castiel’s hand moves from Dean’s back to cup his jaw, drawing him back so their gazes meet. “I will always look at you, Dean.” 

Something unreadable crosses Dean’s features, before he leans in and presses a soft, chaste kiss to Castiel’s lips. “You sure you don’t wanna talk to me about whatever’s botherin’ you?”

Castiel decides to be honest. Dean deserves that. “I am looking further into Daphne’s affair.” 

Dean’s nose wrinkles slightly. “Why?” 

“This weekend was… different, for Daphne and myself.” He feels Dean tense, so he draws him back into the comfort of his chest. “We had a date day on Saturday, and yesterday when we made love… it was different.” 

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, his tone of voice guarded. 

“She was much more involved. In everything. I know I am partially to blame for our distance, but this weekend she seemed to be making a special effort to act like a proper wife.” 

There’s silence from Dean, but Castiel dare not pull his head away from where it’s safely tucked in his throat. 

“Do you think she knows?” Dean finally asks. 

“No,” Castiel says. “If anything this weekend solidified that she has no idea the nature of our relationship.” 

“Then why do you think…”

“She mentioned that since you started working here I’ve relaxed marginally,” Castiel explains. “I think she believes my newfound comfort is the result of some… misplaced parental affection towards you, like your relationship with her.” Dean makes a noncommittal noise. “I believe that she perhaps, in turn, felt more comfortable with _me_ than she has in quite a while.” 

Dean stays quiet. 

Castiel strokes down his back affectionately. “I am starting to think that as I thaw, she is reevaluating her relationship with Mr. Crowley.”

That causes Dean to pull away. “You think she’s feeling guilty?”

“Shouldn’t she?” Castiel counters, raising a brow at Dean’s indignant tone. “She is cheating on her husband of nearly two decades.”

“Yeah, but she shoulda been feeling guilty _before_ you started to defrost, or whatever, not after.” Dean says. “Bullshit that when you start to relax and get happy she jumps on the ‘what have I been missing out on’ train.” 

That misplaced anger, hurt, and jealousy rears ugly on Dean’s pretty face. Castiel cups either of his cheeks, brushing their noses together. “It is not your responsibility to be frustrated over my marital issues.”

“And why the hell isn’t it?” Dean asks, pulling away, looking wounded. “She hasn’t been appreciating you for this long, and now all of a sudden she’s turned over a new leaf? Look, I like her, I really do, but she’s damn stupid for letting a marriage with you get dull.” 

“As I have said before,” Castiel says, voice firm, the frustration from the day that he’d tried to let go resurfacing, “our marriage has not _dulled_ over time because of her alone. Her and I share mutual fault for our marriage being what it is.” Dean tightens his jaw and lowers his gaze. “Whether or not you are in the picture, Dean, my marriage with Daphne will stay between us.”

Dean pushes at Castiel’s chest, startling the man slightly as he hops off of the stool. “That’s _bullshit_, Cas. You can’t have a- you can’t start a _relationship_ with someone and expect them to not get involved in your _marriage_. I’m not some innocent bystander, Cas, I’m the reason you’re cheating on your wife!”

Castiel’s hand shoots up to grip Dean’s throat tightly, forcing the boy’s head back. He gasps and falls quiet, hands lifting to grab at Castiel’s forearm, though he doesn’t try to push him away again. 

“The reason I am cheating on my wife, boy, is because I am in an arranged marriage with an unsatisfied sexual appetite. The _result_ of cheating on my wife is having sex with someone who fulfills needs that she cannot. You are not the _cause_ of my infidelity, Dean. And it would be wise of you to recall that you did not wish to enter a romantic relationship with me, so you should hold your tongue when it comes to how _you_ feel about my marriage when we have verbally contracted an agreement about what your role here, from lunch til four, entails.”

Dean’s eyes are wet with tears, but they’re of anger, not fear. His grip is tight on Castiel’s forearm and they stand in stalemate, Castiel’s grip on Dean’s throat not enough to constrict his breathing, but enough to let Dean know that his words were not appreciated, or warranted. After another moment Dean’s grip goes a little slack, fingers trailing up towards Castiel’s wrists as his eyes close. 

“Remind me, Sir.” 

Castiel’s fingers flex. They haven’t scened in almost a week, since the first time, and both of their emotions are high right now. But Dean swallows, licks his lips, and opens his eyes to meet Castiel’s gaze. Emotional though they are, Dean is quite clearly sound of mind as he challenges the man with his eyes. 

“What is your safeword?”

Dean goes lax in his grip. “Impala.” 

“When lunch is ready, I will set it on the counter to cool, and we will take it late.” He releases his grip on Dean's throat, watching the boy wobble on unsteady feet. “Go to the living room, undress, and kneel by the couch.”

“Yes, Sir,” Dean says, ducking out of Castiel's space and leaving the kitchen in sure strides.

Alone, Castiel lets out a sigh, trying to gather both his thoughts and emotions. He doesn't want to outlet his frustrations on Dean; no, rather opposite. The love and care and attention that Daphne doesn't invite or encourage needs an outlet, and Castiel takes a moment to remind himself of that. He does not resent Daphne. And Dean does not need punishment. 

He stays in the kitchen and catches up on e-mails on his phone. He resolutely does not go to where he knows Dean is waiting, and finds himself commending the boy on not growing impatient and demanding his presence. Twenty minutes pass and he pulls the pizza out of the oven, setting it on the counter. He washes his hands thoroughly and then dries them, taking a measured breath before walking to the living room.

There, the picture of obedience, waits Dean. He's fully naked, kneeling next to the arm of the couch, hands clenched into fists on his thighs. He's hard, erection standing proudly, his entire body flushed. Castiel is pleased to note that he is, indeed, free of hair… everywhere, even his legs.

“My boy,” Castiel greets, warmth in his voice. Dean's eyes find him and lock onto him, his posture straightening, presenting himself properly. “We are going to discuss our kink lists, and after that I will decide what to do with you.”

Dean looks like he wants to argue, but he draws his lips between his teeth to hold his tongue. 

“This is a conversation we should have had before now, but considering the day I’ve had and how you’ve behaved, it is important I gather this information before we continue.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Dean replies. 

“I am going to name a kink, or an activity. If you like it and want to do it, say ‘green’. If you’ve never tried it but are curious about it, say ‘yellow’. If you are uninterested at all, say ‘red’. Do you understand?”

“‘Green’ if I want it, ‘yellow’ if I wanna try it, ‘red’ if I don’t want it. Sir.” 

“Good boy,” Castiel praises. He crosses to the other side of the couch where an end table sits, opening the drawer to pull out a notepad and a pen so he can keep written track of this conversation. His memory is impeccable, but this particular discussion is something he wants to have on record. He draws three lines for columns, labels each, and then speaks as he returns to stand in front of Dean. “We shall begin. Spanking, with either my hand or instruments?”

“Green, Sir.” 

Castiel writes it down in the proper column. 

“Choking and asphyxiation?”

“Green, Sir.” 

“Blindfolds?”

“Green, Sir.”

“Bondage, including but not limited to: handcuffs, ropes, spreader bars, chains?” 

“Green, Sir.” 

Castiel feels his cock swelling in his pants. Dean is being so obedient, kneeling prostrate, his hands still fisted tightly on the tops of his thighs, those pretty spring green eyes trained on Castiel.

“Orgasm denial and edging?” 

Dean chews his lip. “Yellow, Sir.” 

“Cockrings or cock cages?”

“Yellow, Sir.”

“Prostate milking?”

“Green, Sir.”

“Double penetration?”

He sees a shudder run down Dean’s spine. “Yellow, Sir.”

Castiel puts a star next to that one. “Sounding?” 

It looks like Dean, for a moment, is trying to figure out what that is. After a moment he lets out a breath, licks his lips, and replies, “Re… mmm… yellow, Sir.” 

“Degrading talk, humiliation?” 

“Green, Sir.” 

“Deep throating and face fucking?”

“Green, Sir.”

“Biting, bruising, and other such temporary markings?” 

“Green, Sir.” 

“The introduction of toys, such as, but not limited to: anal plugs, dildos, and vibrators?”

“Green, Sir.”

“Phone sex, and sexting?”

Dean’s eyes flash a little, his brow knitting slightly. “Excuse me, Sir, but… I was under the impression that I am yours from lunch til four, Monday through Friday.”

Castiel smiles small. “You are. However, if you’re amenable, I would like to occasionally have you on nights or weekends if your schedule allows.”

Shifting a little on his knees, Dean drops his gaze briefly. He’s clearly thinking about popping the sacred bubble of being in Castiel’s house, just the two of them, safe in their seclusion. It would be an evolution in their relationship, and Castiel isn’t trying to be underhanded and monopolize Dean’s affection and obedience, but he has a feeling that once they get officially started, it will be hard to go without Dean for any length of time. Weekends will surely be torture. 

“Yellow, Sir.” Dean finally replies, and then lifts his gaze back to Castiel’s. 

Not a yes, but not a no. Castiel will take it for what it is. 

“Urination?” Castiel continues.

Dean looks a little taken aback at the question. “Could… could you elaborate on that, Sir?” 

“Specifically, bladder control. Holding it for as long as possible, even through sexual stimulation. Releasing only when I allow you to. Much the same for me, though I will be in control of myself. Whether the urine goes in the toilet or some other receptacle, or on each other’s bodies, is up to you.”

Dean’s cheeks are flushed brightly, but there’s blatant curiosity in his eyes. “Yellow, Sir.”

Castiel puts a star next to that one, as well. 

“Slapping on the face?” 

“Green, Sir.” 

“The filming or recording of our sexual encounters, or exchanging photos through text?”

“Is that smart?” Dean asks. 

“Not entirely,” Castiel says. “Daphne never invades my privacy and I give her the same respect. I am sure nothing between us would fall into the wrong hands, but I will understand your decision to not engage in such exchanges.” 

Dean’s fingers unclench to drum lightly over his thighs. “...Yellow, Sir. Kinda goes along with the sexting, don’t it?” 

“It does,” Castiel nods. “Think of it as a subsect.”

“Ok. Yellow, Sir.” 

Castiel glances over his list, and then hums softly as he notices that nothing went into the ‘red’ column. “Permission to speak freely, boy. Is there anything you wish to add to this list?” 

“Panties,” Dean says quickly, the blush on his cheeks not abating at all. His eyes are bright as he holds Castiel’s gaze. “And, um. Maybe… Maybe other girly clothes. Sir.” 

Delight courses through Castiel. “I appreciate your trust in me for requesting that, Dean. Your secret is safe with me.” 

Relief is obvious on Dean’s features, though he still holds Castiel’s gaze, still keeps his posture perfect. Castiel writes it down on the list and then tears off the piece of paper, folding it up neatly and tucking it into the pocket of his slacks. 

“You did so well, Dean,” Castiel praises. He steps forward, reaching out to card his fingers through Dean’s hair. “And I want you to know that our discussion in the kitchen is not grounds for punishment. I appreciate your concern, but I want to reiterate that our relationship, boy, is exclusive to us, just as my marriage is exclusive to myself and Daphne. They will overlap occasionally, which we will handle accordingly, but when it is just you and me… that is all we are. I am your Dom, and you are my Sub.” 

“Yes, Sir.” Dean licks his lips, leaning into Castiel’s touch. “May I make one more request, Sir…?” 

“Speak.” 

“Princess,” Dean says, in the same tone of voice he’d said ‘panties’ just moments ago. “Could you… could you call me ‘Princess’ sometimes…?” 

Raising his brows, Castiel regards Dean with new sight. He’d thought the panties were a kink, the first time Dean brought them up last week. But now knowing that Dean would like to wear women’s clothing and be called Princess… Castiel has a hunch it’s less of a kink and more of a deep-rooted desire for something… else. What that something else is, Castiel isn’t sure, entirely. Dean seems very confident and comfortable in his masculinity and sexuality, but as Castiel regards him - soft lips, his hair slightly longer on top, long lashes, tapered waist - the term ‘gender fluid’ floats into his mind. He decides that’s a conversation to have at a later date, when his cock isn’t straining against the zipper of his slacks and a mere six inches away from this pretty boy’s mouth. 

“Do you wish me to stop calling you ‘boy’?” 

“No, Sir. Um, but when I wear panties, o-or other stuff… Princess would be nice.” 

Nodding, Castiel adds another piece to the puzzle of Dean Winchester. It seems as though their relationship is going to benefit them both greatly, for various reasons. 

“Please, Sir,” Dean clears his throat and speaks up, confidence leaking back into his voice as he looks up at Castiel through his lashes. “Can I suck your cock now?” 

Castiel clasps his hands behind his back. “You’re going to do all the work.”

Dean’s hands fly up to Castiel’s slacks, popping the button and pulling down the zipper. His hands pull down the pants and Castiel’s underwear, Castiel’s cock falling heavily, the tip smacking Dean directly on the nose. Dean’s too focused to laugh, though, eyeing the prize hungrily. His fingers circle the base, the tips of his forefinger and thumb barely touching from the girth, and then his mouth falls open so he can rest the head of Castiel’s cock on the flat of his tongue.

What a sight.

Dean, eyes closed in rapture, mouth open, cheeks flushed, breathing evenly through his nose. The fingers of one hand around Castiel’s cock, his other hand resting on his own thigh, fist relaxed where it lay. He’s feeling the weight of Castiel’s cock, inhaling his scent, and Castiel can tell just by looking at him that all of his worries and insecurities have floated away from him just from having the tip of Castiel’s hard, leaking cock resting on his greedy taste buds. 

He licks. He doesn’t close his lips around Castiel’s length, his tongue instead leaving behind a wet trail while it covers every inch of him. He holds Castiel’s cock steady but doesn’t move it, doesn’t jerk him, Dean choosing to rotate his neck and move his head and body so he can move to where he wants. The air in the living room cools his spit whenever he moves away and Castiel watches, thinking to the few times Dean had said he loves cock, declared himself a cumslut. It, apparently, was no exaggeration. 

Daphne has never sucked Castiel’s dick. He had asked once, early on in their marriage, and she had politely declined to do so, distracting him from disappointment by rolling onto her back and slipping her fingers into her pussy, beckoning him to fuck her instead. He’d nearly forgotten what it was like to have a mouth on his cock; it had always been good, but nothing to recall on during solo sessions.

Dean, though.

Dean works over Castiel’s cock with his lips and tongue like he’ll die if he doesn’t. His own cock stays flushed and erect between his thighs, and it’s clear to see that Dean gets off on the act alone. He takes his time, licking and sucking, dipping his head to mouth at Castiel’s heavy sac, moaning as the weight rests on his chin. Castiel allows him to do as he pleases, wanting to get a gauge for how Dean likes to suck cock. Castiel moves his hands from behind his back to thread his fingers through Dean’s hair, watching as Dean’s lashes flutter open, revealing the drunken glaze in those pretty greens. He looks like he’s in another world, and Castiel is immediately and overwhelmingly grateful for the fact that Dean has experience in being a Sub, as he’s read that subspace can be jarring and confusing the first time it takes over. Dean, though. Dean embraces it, allows it to take control of his body and mind, and it’s… beautiful.

“Look at you,” Castiel finds himself murmuring. Dean’s fingers around the base of his cock finally start jerking as he moves back up to the head, sucking tightly, tongue flicking into the slit and sparking pleasure down to Castiel's toes. He seems to wake up a little, going from worshiping Castiel’s cock to pleasuring it, drool dripping down his chin as he bobs his head and takes Castiel’s shaft further and further inside his mouth. “So hungry for me. Do you want my cum, boy?” 

Dean lets out a positive-sounding moan, lashes fluttering. 

“Take me deep, and I will let you drink.” 

Closing his eyes, Dean inhales slowly and slides down Castiel’s length. The tightness is almost overwhelming, and when his cockhead nudges the back of Dean’s throat, Castiel almost thinks that he won’t be able to take it. He’s already stretching Dean’s mouth in a way that’s surely uncomfortable, but Dean adjusts his position on his knees slightly, tilts his head back, and Castiel’s cock slides into the sweet heat of his throat. Huffing out a breath, wonder blooms in Castiel’s lust-filled haze - no one has ever been able to deep throat him before but Dean is swallowing him down with little difficulty. 

Regulating his own breathing, Castiel gently cups either side of Dean’s head. Dean meets his gaze and Castiel sees the permission in them, those soft lashes fluttering closed once more. He starts moving shallowly at first, wanting Dean to get used to the sensation of something so huge sliding around in his throat and mouth, but he feels his control waning quickly. He’s had fifteen years of unsatisfying orgasms from both his wife and his own hand, and now that he has such a beautiful boy beneath him he knows he won’t last long. But Dean is hungry for his cum, anyway, so it’s not like either of them will lose out on much if Castiel orgasms quickly.

Dean holds himself as still as possible, his hands back in his lap but not touching his cock as Castiel starts to increase his pace and depth. His balls swing heavy, slapping against Dean’s soft chin, his eyes greedily watching the tears stream down Dean’s cheeks to mix with the saliva that leaks from the corners of his mouth, a salty, slobbery mess smearing over his balls and down Dean’s neck. Castiel feels the heat building up, feels that pleasure spiraling, and he gives a few rough thrusts that make Dean’s eyes fly open in surprise before he pulls out and jacks on his cock once, Dean barely able to suck in a gasping breath before Castiel erupts over his face. Spurts of cum rope heavily across Dean’s brow, nose, and cheeks, the boy’s eyes closing in supplication, his tongue lolling out of his mouth to catch the last drops that Castiel squeezes from his dick with his fist. Castiel presses the head of his cock to Dean’s tongue with enough force to make Dean’s jaw hang wide open, and Dean lets out the most wrecked noise Castiel has ever heard. 

Pulling away, Castiel takes in Dean’s debauched appearance. He looks utterly devastated, his face covered in cum, globs of it dropping down onto his flushed chest where his nipples are perked and his ribs are flexing with his deep breaths. Castiel has never released that much semen in his life. Dean’s eyes finally open and when Castiel glances down to his thighs, he sees bright red marks where the boy has been digging his nails into his skin. 

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel exhales, dropping to his own knees. He leans forward, licking up a stripe of cum, using his tongue to run it along his own teeth. “You did so good. My good boy.”

“Please,” Dean whispers, and now that Castiel is close he can feel the way his body trembles. 

Castiel reaches between them and grips Dean’s cock, only jerking it a few times before Dean’s hands shoot out to grasp at his shoulders, a strangled cry leaving his swollen, stretched lips as his orgasm bursts. He shudders and trembles and gasps through it, and Castiel glances down to watch his cum cover his fist, the color of Dean’s cock an almost worryingly, but beautiful shade of purple. The boy is truly gifted in restraint, and so _responsive_. 

Dean collapses forward into Castiel’s chest. With sticky hands Castiel draws Dean into his lap as he adjusts his own position to sit on the floor cross-legged; Dean isn’t tiny, but he’s just the right size to fit perfectly in the cradle of Castiel’s arms, and Castiel murmurs soft praises in the boys ear as they both come down from the high. 

Once their breathing is back to normal and their body temperatures have lowered, Castiel helps Dean to his feet. He tells him to go take another shower and put his clothes back on and then meet him in the kitchen for lunch; Dean nods in agreement, his gait a little slow as he leaves the living room to head to the bathroom. Castiel fixes his rumpled clothes and checks to make sure there are no stains, and then he moves to the kitchen to set up lunch. The kink list burns heavy in his pocket, and as he slices the still-warm pizza, he catches himself smiling as he sets their places at the table, orange juice for Dean, water for himself.

He doesn’t think about Daphne for the rest of the afternoon, and knows Dean doesn’t, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We love a healthy kink negotiation!


	5. Chapter 5

Life is good. Almost… too good. Castiel isn’t a suspicious person by nature; quite opposite, really. It could be considered naive to some, but Castiel takes basically everything at face value and trusts that it is exactly what it is, and that people are who they are, and the world keeps turning. He’s not so stupid to think that there aren’t bad things or bad people in the world, but he has some semblance of faith that the things and people he surrounds _himself_ with are, inherently, good. As an excellent judge of character and being someone who isn’t afraid to cut ties with idiots and lepers, Castiel has managed to arrange his life neatly, all the gears and cogs perfectly in place to play their part. 

That sounds highly impersonal, but Castiel is a man of simple mechanics and equations.

For instance: Daphne is cheating on Castiel with Mr. Crowley. Gabriel had confirmed two weeks after their initial phone call that he saw them “smooching” (Gabriel’s words) in one of the teacher lounges when they thought no one was around. Satisfied with the confirmation, Castiel can move on to the next part of the equation.

Which is: Castiel is cheating on Daphne with Dean. And oh, what a blissful ride that is. Dean is so beautifully submissive and obedient while still retaining that fire and wit, always keeping Castiel on his toes. He’s more than handy on the farm, and Castiel debates asking Daphne what she’s paying him, because no matter what she’d settled on, Castiel is of the mind that Dean deserves twice the amount. Then again, he doesn’t want Dean to feel like a kept boy, and Dean hasn’t said that the wages are unsatisfactory, so he hasn’t brought it up.

Painting the chicken coop, all three of them together, had actually been pleasant. This falls into the ‘life is good’ category amongst the mechanics and equations. The three of them had worn clothes they didn’t care about, brought out buckets and brushes and stencils, the chicken coop quite the spectacle once they were finished. The whole of it got painted sky blue; Dean and Daphne used sponges to dab fluffy white clouds in various spots while Castiel worked on the logo on the slanted roof, which faces the house, where since then Castiel has had his morning cup of coffee while gazing at it serenely every day. 

The logo was simple, a bright sun with wavy, stretching rays, and a halo perched atop it. Named after an angel, Castiel had always incorporated some sort of religious theme into his art back in college, even if he himself never considered himself particularly faithful. Daphne, who doesn’t attend church every Sunday but dutifully believes in a higher power, had been thrilled at the addition. 

Dean, cheeky as ever, had said, “An angel topping the sun, huh?”

The metaphor of Dean being bright as sunshine had never been hidden from him, but Castiel mildly regretted it in wake of the joke. Castiel had rolled his eyes a little, but Daphne had missed the joke completely, drawing Dean into a paint-covered hug, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

They had washed up and ordered pizza, the three of them seated at the eat-in kitchen table, laughing and smiling and telling jokes in such a familiar and friendly way they could get the Brady Bunch a run for their money. 

That was what tipped the scales into the ‘almost too good’ category. 

Coming up on the third week of their agreement, Daphne has gone back to boring vanilla sex, even though her mood has dramatically improved. Castiel and Dean haven’t scened since the intense blowjob, because Castiel has truly been too busy with quarterly reports to indulge Dean like he truly wants to. He’d spent all last week catching up on everything, moving up conferences and rearranging his schedule so he could get as much done as possible. Dean has been patient and understanding; they might not scene sexually but Castiel will still ask Dean to kneel, or hold Castiel’s free thumb in his mouth, simple but pleasant things for both of them while Castiel works on his laptop from the comfort of the couch. Castiel had been unsure about nonsexual situations between them, but Dean transitioned easily and readily. 

‘Life is good’. 

Dean doesn’t complain - he doesn’t ask Castiel for more, doesn’t beg him or taunt him or tease him to try and push his buttons into something sexual. Dean reads whatever catches his interest from Castiel’s library, watches movies with the subtitles on so the noise doesn’t distract Castiel, and one time Castiel had seen him filling out college applications, albeit a little half-heartedly.

‘Almost too good’. 

Tuesdays must be the magical day for them, because finally on a Tuesday Castiel feels as though he’s all caught up on work and can comfortably spend the rest of the week’s afternoons with Dean, and Dean alone. When Dean wanders into the kitchen for lunch, looking downright snuggly in a pair of (reasonably) short athletic shorts and a (purposely) oversized grey sweater, Castiel sets down the knife he’s using to chop vegetables, wiping his hands on his black apron so he can walk over to Dean and wrap him up in a hug.

Dean _melts_. He loves being held, touched in any manner, really, and Castiel adores the way Dean sags into him like Castiel is the only thing in the world keeping him upright. Which, Castiel thinks, is probably true on most days. Mindful of the fact he’s cooking, Castiel keeps his hands off of Dean but makes sure he squeezes him with his biceps and his forearms, enjoying the rush of air that exhales out of the boy when his ribs get compacted. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

Dean inhales deeply at Castiel’s collar - today Castiel had dressed down to jeans and a navy blue buttoned shirt - and then he pulls away to send a small, but fully-lit smile to Castiel. “Hey. You’re not dressed all fancy.”

“No,” Castiel presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead and then pulls away so he can move back to the island and continue preparing lunch. “This week I will be doing no work after lunch, so I thought I too would dress to relax.” 

“Jeans ain’t relaxin’,” Dean says with a playful smile. He hops up on a stool, pushing up his sleeves and then folding his forearms on the counter to lean slightly into them as he watches Castiel’s hands and fingers move over the cutting board. “Wait- you won’t be workin’ this week?” 

“I worked overtime last week to ensure that I could free up the rest of this week for you,” Castiel says, lifting his gaze to gauge Dean’s reaction.

Dean looks a little bewildered, his lower lip open, green eyes regarding Castiel wonderingly. 

Smirking, Castiel drops his gaze back to the cutting board. “You do recall our arrangement, don’t you, boy?” 

“Yes, Sir,” Dean replies.

“Were either of us fully satisfied last week?” 

When Dean doesn’t reply immediately, Castiel glances up to see him squirming slightly on the stool, a telltale sign that Dean is about to say something that he’s embarrassed to admit, but knows he needs to say. “Not sexually. But I… I really liked just bein’ around you, Sir. Regardless of what we do or don’t do. An’ I know it was easier for you to work when I was there with you, so…” he chews his lip, meeting Castiel’s gaze. “I believe we were satisfied with what we were able to do last week, given the circumstances, Sir.”

Warmth blooms in Castiel’s chest. He regards Dean openly, knowing affection is written on his features and unable - as well as unwilling - to try and hide it. He holds Dean’s gaze for a beat, watches the boy’s cheeks flush that beautiful rose hue, and then returns to chopping the vegetables. “You would be correct. I believe part of the reason I was able to work so efficiently and quickly was because you were nearby.” 

“Don’t get me wrong, though,” Dean is quick to say, “I been waitin’ to have your cock again, but I know you’ve got shit you gotta handle before you can worry about me.”

“On the contrary,” Castiel counters, “everything I do, every day, in some measure, is a step towards taking care of you.” 

Dean snorts, “Don’t think your spreadsheets got much to do with me, boss.” 

Castiel sends Dean a dry look at the sarcastic title. He dips the sliced vegetables into a bowl with beaten eggs, then a bowl of panko breadcrumbs, and repeats the process once more before carefully dropping them into the pan of hot oil on the burner, speaking as he does so. “You are on my mind constantly, Dean. I daresay not an hour goes by where I don’t think of you.” Dean’s quiet behind him as Castiel continues to fry the vegetables. “When I’m working alone in my office, I’m thinking about how to expedite whatever it is I am working on so that I ensure I will be on time for lunch. When I am grocery shopping, I think about what you like, and what you don’t like, and what I would like you to try. When I am online for leisure, I am browsing different sites, wondering what clothing to buy you, or perhaps even what sort of toy you would like to try out.” When the vegetables are fried to the perfect crispness he uses tongs to pull them out and lay them on a paper towel covered plate, starting the next round. “As your Dom, your comfort is first and foremost on my mind.”

“But…” he can hear the frown in Dean’s voice. “Those things you just said- those are things you do… outside of our time.” 

“A Dom is not a part time job,” Castiel says easily. “And in any case, thinking about you is what keeps me… sane.” He turns to glance towards Dean, trying to read the emotions flitting in those pretty spring greens. “Does that make you uncomfortable?” 

Dean ducks his gaze. “No, Sir, ‘cause I uh… I think about you a lot, too.” A wry smile twists his lips as he glances up to meet Castiel’s gaze. “Even if you talk like some sort of Victorian vampire.” 

Castiel bristles, “Not all of us are charming when we speak like Neanderthals.”

“I talk like a Neanderthal?” Dean’s nose crinkles cutely.

“I said it was charming,” Castiel says, turning back to the vegetables.

“Yeah, yeah. Now ‘m gonna be all self-conscious.” 

“Are you ever self-conscious?” Castiel asks rhetorically.

“You’re right,” Dean laughs, the sound filling the kitchen alongside the sizzle of the tempura frying. 

The rest of lunch takes only about ten minutes to throw together, since Castiel had finished work early so he could have it all completed shortly after Dean’s shower. Tempura fried vegetables, Korean barbecue marinated chicken thighs, and cauliflower rice - which he makes a point to not inform Dean of. They sit at the table, adjacent instead of across, their knees touching while they eat. The atmosphere is relaxed and easy, and when Castiel realizes he can barely take his eyes off of Dean he makes a note to buy more large sweaters and tiny shorts. There’s something adorable yet sexy about the way the clothes fit Dean. Clean up doesn’t take long despite the fact Castiel has to forcibly keep his hands on the dishes and not let them wander to where Dean is drying and putting things away. 

When they’re done, hands dried, they turn towards each other. Castiel finally gives into the urge to touch Dean, gently cupping his jaw, swiping his thumb over the boy’s full lower lip.

“I’ve set up a bedroom for you,” he says. “The guest room on the main floor is never used. That is where I keep your spare clothes and the items I have purchased for play time.”

That spark flashes in Dean’s eyes, the complacent, good boy he’s been for the past week disappearing in an instant. “Don’t wanna fuck me in the same bed you have bad sex with your wife in?”

Heat zings through Castiel and he knows his eyes darken when he replies, “Not right away.”

Dean’s knees weaken but his smirk widens, his hands lifting so he can grasp at Castiel’s wrists. They hold this position a lot, Castiel thinks idly; Castiel’s hands somewhere on Dean, and Dean clinging onto him like he’ll collapse if he doesn’t. Maybe he will. Castiel is very aware of the power he holds over this beautiful, touch-starved boy. 

“I have a printout of our kink list. It is in the bedside table drawer in your bedroom. I want you to pick one green item, and one yellow item. We can do one, or both.” He checks the clock on the oven and sees that they still have over two hours before Dean has to leave - plenty of time for them to get creative.

The boy’s lips part as he takes in a few breaths, his lashes fluttering as his pupils swell. “Yes, Sir.” 

Castiel grips Dean’s chin between his thumb and forefinger tightly for a moment, the boy’s eyes snapping wide in response, spine straightening, fingers tightening where they grip at Castiel’s forearms. “I am sure the research you have done has given you plenty of ideas of how I want you to present for me. Perhaps even that bear had his own set of rules. All I want for you to do, boy, before we prepare for a scene, is be naked, be comfortable, and be _mine_.” 

“Yes Sir.” Dean’s beautifully long lashes flutter slightly, as obedient as he is bratty. 

“Go.” Castiel lets go of Dean’s chin and the boy wastes no time in exiting the kitchen, making a beeline towards the guest room.

Taking a moment to compose himself, Castiel counts backwards from ten as he starts unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt. Once that minor task is complete he starts folding and rolling the material neatly, working it over his thick forearms until the fabric rests in the bend of his elbow. He turns on heel while loosening his tie, heading down the hallway, trying to recall the last time Daphne had even been on this side of the house; it must have been when her mother visited five years ago and stayed in the guest room. He’s further confident in the fact that Daphne won’t notice that the room has been subtly refashioned for an eighteen year old boy.

The door is shut when Castiel comes to it. Letting out a slow breath, he knocks sharply twice before opening the door. The afternoon light cascading through the large windows bathes the earth-toned room in golden rays, and there, kneeling at the foot of the bed on a plush rug, is Dean, illuminated like the angel he sometimes proves to be. The laminated kink list is on the bed, the wet erase marker perched on it, Castiel’s heart fluttering in his chest. For as bratty as Dean can be, he can be equally good and wonderful. He has an innate instinct to obey and please, and Castiel, while jealous, is finding himself once again thankful for the fact that Benny had initiated Dean into this life. Not that Castiel thinks he would be indelicate… but as a novice, himself, the luck of having even a lightly experienced Sub is a treasure. 

Speaking of.

Castiel stands in front of Dean, whose hands are resting placidly atop his freckled thighs. He’s buck naked, freckles and tan lines on display. Castiel reaches out to card his fingers briefly through Dean’s hair on his way to picking up the kink list, drawing his posture straight and perusing the columns.

From the green column, Dean has checked off ‘blindfold’.

From the yellow column, Dean has checked off ‘orgasm denial/edging’ and ‘cockring/cage’. 

Arching a brow, Castiel hums his approval. “Specify your yellow.” 

“Orgasm denial and a cockring, Sir.” 

“Very well.” He picks up the marker from the bed as well and returns it and the list to the bedside table, closing the drawer quietly. Opening the second drawer, he pulls out an unopened package and a strip of red silk, before returning to stand in front of Dean. “This is brand new.” He drapes the silk over his own shoulder so he can free his hands, carefully opening the box at waist height so Dean can see clearly. “Everything I use on you for the first time will be brand new, and you will watch me open it straight from the packaging to ensure its newness.”

“Yes, Sir,” Dean replies, his eyes glued to the box as Castiel opens it. 

From within he pulls out a silicone ring, holding it out towards Dean. “We will start with a silicone ring at first so you can get used to the sensation. Once you get better at controlling your erection, we will move on to different materials.”

At Castiel’s silent nod Dean takes the cockring in his fingers, squeezing it and flexing it, working it around. His brow is slightly furrowed, his lips pursed as he contemplates it; and then he flashes the most breathtaking smile, holding it out towards Castiel for him to take. “Thank you, Sir.” 

“I feel obligated, as well, to tell you at this time that you are my first Sub,” Castiel says as he slips the ring onto his thumb. He moves to place the empty box on the dresser to be discarded later, and then stands in front of Dean once again. The boy’s eyes widen slightly in disbelief, his mouth dropping open to say something, but Castiel interrupts. “While I have done extensive research on what I would like to exercise as a Dom, you, ultimately, have more experience than me in this area. If something is wrong, or if you have a suggestion to better me as a Dom, you may safeword, or even just yellow out, and educate me.”

Dean seems stunned, but not scared, which Castiel is thankful for. He’d been worried about what Dean would think upon learning that Castiel has never actually Dommed before - he’d been worried that Dean would break off the agreement and search out someone more experienced who could meet his needs. But, Dean’s eyes soften and he inches forward on his knees until he can nuzzle his cheek against Castiel’s thigh, letting out a soft hum.

“Thank you for telling me that.” His warm breath heats Castiel’s skin through his slacks. “I trust you, Sir.” 

With his free hand Castiel takes a moment to pet his fingers through Dean’s soft hair, closing his eyes and thanking whatever deity might be listening that this boy fell into his lap. He will not break Dean’s trust, he will not hurt him - he will do everything in his power to take care of this lovely, stunning boy, and give him everything he needs.

Starting with today’s session.

“What is your safeword?”

“Impala, Sir.” 

Castiel’s fingers tighten in Dean’s hair, yanking on it to pull the boy’s head back and expose the tantalizing line of his throat. He pulls the silk from his shoulder, watching Dean’s pupils dilate before he covers up those pretty spring greens and carefully knots the blindfold at the back of Dean’s head. He checks the fit, gives the knot a tug, and then waves his hand in front of Dean’s face; satisfied, he reaches down to haul Dean up by his armpits, the boy whooshing out a surprised, pleased noise as Castiel swiftly tosses him onto the bed as though he weighs nothing. The boy bounces on the soft sheets, shifting his body until his feet are no longer dangling off of the edge, propping himself up on his elbows. Castiel admires the rise and fall of his ribs, the flexing and softening of his tummy, before he gets on the bed as well and kneels next to the boy. 

From his thumb he procures the cockring, tracing the silicone over the top of the thigh resting closest to him. Goosebumps erupt in his wake and Dean’s breath hitches slightly, his body melting into the bed, limbs going lax. Castiel watches, enraptured, as Dean falls into a complete state of trust, confident that Castiel will take care of him. Castiel drags the ring around from Dean’s thigh, up to his hip, across his ribs, before he rests it to lay on a nipple, framing the tightening bud perfectly and leaving it there. Castiel’s palm slides down Dean’s body, then, fingertips pressing occasionally, eyes taking in the way Dean’s cock starts to plump with even the most minor stimulation. Ah, to be young again. 

Circling his fingers around the base of Dean’s penis, Castiel watches as Dean visibly refrains from moving. His body locks up at the joints, his breath leaving his lips in short puffs. “I never said you couldn’t move,” Castiel teases softly, his fingers leaving Dean’s cock to caress his tight, smooth balls.

“Ah,” Dean relaxes again, this time spreading his legs in invitation. 

“This session will be intense,” Castiel murmurs, his voice low. He watches it wash over Dean and relax him further, his fingers still toying with the boy’s supple flesh but making sure to not get him hard. “Edging not only tests the body, but the mind. I will be with you every step of the way, and your reward, my beautiful boy, will be well worth it.” 

He can practically see Dean’s ears perk at the mention of a reward. It’s adorable. And the fact that Castiel didn’t say exactly what the reward will be is no doubt whirlpooling in Dean’s head, the boy’s curiosity always so remarkable. He hopes that the temptation of a mystery reward will help Dean stay on track. Dean is still relaxed, still quiet, but he’s pliant now. When he reaches up to pluck the cockring from the nipple his fingers pinch the bud sharply, the tug causing Dean to gasp out loud and recoil slightly. Castiel’s other hand moves, his forearm bracing against the tops of Dean’s thighs to prevent him from bending his legs too much. Dean takes the hint and lies back, his breathing slightly shallow, a radiant flush spreading over his freckled chest. Castiel’s fingers carefully roll the silicone over Dean’s soft cock, snugging it up at the base and making sure he's not squishing his testes too much; Dean hums in contentment, slides his palms over the soft comforter beneath him, and then lifts his hands up over his head to stretch himself out like a pleased cat. Castiel resists a chuckle; he stays quiet and focused, and once he’s confident that the cockring is in place, he pulls back for just a moment. 

The cockring is beautiful even on a flaccid penis. Castiel hopes that Dean enjoys this as much as he knows he will - if only so as they progress, Castiel can change the texture and material of the cockrings, the intensity of them, perhaps even get one that vibrates. There are so many opportunities on the table if this one thing goes well, and Castiel silently vows to himself that he will do his best to make this significant for Dean. 

Always for Dean. 

“How does it feel?” Castiel checks.

“Fine,” Dean replies. He licks his lips, clears his throat softly, wiggles his hips, then corrects himself. “Feels alright, Sir.”

“Good.” Castiel knows that will change once Dean’s cock hardens, and before he can get to the orgasm denial he needs to make sure that the cockring is the correct size and won’t damage Dean. This suits Castiel - the clinical side of proceedings - because he knows he’s particular (the word “anal” has been used to describe him, wholly unironically) and when he can focus his minor neurosis on a singular task, he feels most in control. And Domming is about being in control at all times, so starting small like this is ideal. 

He shifts on the bed. Very carefully, mapping his movements so he doesn’t startle Dean, he spreads the boy’s legs out to either side, his big palms on the smooth undersides of his thighs. Dean goes willingly, a small smile on his lips, the view of his soft cock and balls and the tight furl further below imprinting itself on Castiel’s retinas. A million things flash through Castiel’s brain but all he can focus on is wanting to know how Dean _tastes_. Ever since the kitchen blowjob Castiel has been jonesing for the next dose, and he’s dying to find out if Dean tastes as sweet everywhere. 

On his knees, Castiel pushes Dean’s thighs up and back, exposing his hole. It, too, is free of hair, and the flesh is evenly toned, blending into the skin of his thighs and cheeks. Dean’s maintenance on his body would perhaps seem excessive to anyone else, but Castiel is finding himself exhilarated at the thought of Dean making sure he’s hairless, clean, and pretty, all for his Dom… and perhaps for himself, too. 

“You’re beautiful,” Castiel says, the reverie in his voice almost embarrassing. But truly, with everything inside him, he knows Dean is the most gorgeous person he’s ever had the pleasure of coming across. 

Dean squirms slightly at the praise, but otherwise stays silent. His cock is starting to chub up again, as though he can feel Castiel’s eyes on his skin. Wasting no more time, Castiel bends Dean in half and leans down to press the most soft, chaste kiss to his hole. The muscle flutters and tenses, Dean letting out a soft, surprised sigh. Castiel presses a few more chaste kisses to the tight ring, each pass allowing his lips to open more and more until finally, his tongue swipes out across the furled muscle. Dean tastes incredible because of course he does, musk mixed with a nearly untraceable soap and Dean’s own unique flavor. Castiel’s eyes close in rapture, Dean lets out a low groan, and then Castiel _indulges_. 

Still holding Dean’s legs up and out of the way, Castiel licks, sucks, and swipes at Dean’s hole. The boy lets out the most beautiful noises while Castiel works his muscles loose with his tongue and lips, and by the time Castiel comes up for air Dean’s cock is fully hard, the tip leaking against his tummy where it rests due to his body being folded in half. Castiel looks over Dean’s partially covered face, absorbing the flushed cheeks, the way he’s biting his plush lower lip. So perfect. 

Castiel returns to Dean’s hole. This time he slips in the tip of his finger with his tongue, pressing and pulling and tugging while he slurps and sucks and licks, his finger slipping deeper and deeper until he bends it _just so_, Dean letting out the most beautiful noise in reply. His entire body convulses, his knuckles knocking against the headboard as his hands shoot out for something to grasp. His feet accidentally find purchase on Castiel’s shoulders but he leaves them there, toes digging in and wrinkling the fabric of Castiel’s shirt. Castiel continues to press against Dean’s prostate until the boy is nearly sobbing and then he pulls away, withdrawing his finger and pressing a sweet kiss to Dean’s hole before reaching up and gingerly removing Dean’s feet from his shoulders. He helps the boy straighten his legs out on the bed, watching a few stray twitches sparking through his extremities before he finally settles. 

Running his palms soothingly over the tops of Dean’s thighs, Castiel moves his hands to frame Dean’s flushed cock. Creating a diamond with his forefingers and thumbs, he presses gently down on Dean’s pelvis; he adjusts his thumbs so they scoop under his balls and then gives another press, Dean squirming slightly in reply.

“Ngh, S-Sir…” Dean finally regains the ability to speak. 

“We are going to have to learn each other’s limits,” Castiel says, releasing the pressure on Dean’s body. “When you’re close, you will tell me, so I can stop.” 

Dean nods in reply. Castiel presses down with his hands again and Dean squirms once more, “That’s… a-ah, heh, that’s my bladder…” 

“Another thing we will work up to,” Castiel says in acknowledgment. “Not today. But this sensation is something I want to get you used to. I want you to associate it with pleasure.” 

The flush that spreads on Dean’s cheeks is different from arousal. “I dunno-” 

Castiel presses down gently at the same time he wraps his lips around the head of Dean’s cock, tonguing the weeping slit. Dean hisses and arches, hands flying to Castiel’s head, his erection throbbing in reply. Castiel sucks and pulls back, relieving the pressure of his hands at the same time, and then goes back in to repeat the process. Dean starts panting heavily, his fingers unsure of where they’re allowed to land, but Castiel doesn’t correct him when they tangle in his hair. The next few minutes are spent rocking Dean back and forth on the sensation of Castiel lavishing his cock with his mouth and applying pressure to his bladder with his hands, and soon enough Dean hiccups a gasp.

“I- Close-!” 

Pulling away, Castiel resumes the petting motion over Dean’s thighs. He rubs firmly, helping Dean calm as he comes down from the edge. He wishes he could see his pretty eyes at this point.

“Dean,” Castiel says, his voice rough from Dean’s cock in his throat. “I’m going to remove your blindfold.”

Dean lets out a reedy laugh, “Really not gonna last long if I can see you.”

“Perhaps,” Castiel agrees, planting one hand on Dean’s hip and reaching up with the other to undo the silk. “But I do love the way you look when consumed by pleasure and, unfortunately, the blindfold is keeping me from that vision.” 

When the silk is pulled free from Dean’s face his green eyes are dark with arousal, lashes damp, brow furrowed. He meets Castiel’s gaze and lets out a little groan as his cock twitches. Smirking softly, Castiel discards the silk and then shuffles to get comfortable between Dean’s thighs once more. Dean’s breathing picks up shallowly and now he reaches down to hook his hands under his knees, pulling to expose himself fully to Castiel. 

Oh, what a sight.

Dean, knees to chest, spread wide. His hole, clenching and unclenching, looking like it needs to be filled so desperately. His cock, flushed dark red from arousal and the cockring, his balls drawn tight, a blush tinting the entirety of his body from hairline to ankle. 

“Please,” Dean says, and though his voice is soft, his eyes are fierce with determination. Castiel knows in that moment Dean wants to be pushed to the edge, wants Castiel to bring him back, only to do it all over again. 

The next fifteen minutes pass by beautifully. Castiel uses his mouth and hands on Dean’s cock, balls, and hole. Every time Dean gets close he’s the picture of a good boy, warning Castiel so he can pull off and help him calm down. Near the end of the fifteen minutes, however, Castiel is finding himself getting greedy, and Dean is doing so well, tears streaming down his cheeks, fingernails leaving crescents in the soft underside of his thighs. Without warning Castiel deftly pulls the cockring off, swallowing Dean’s erection once it’s free, and Dean _screams_ when he comes, shooting down Castiel’s throat.

The waves seem to last forever. Dean’s body is rolling and trembling with the force of his orgasm and his cock is pouring endlessly. Castiel swallows everything down even as he helps Dean lower his legs back to the bed. When he feels the sluggish pulse of Dean’s cock he pulls back to suck at the head, milking the last of his orgasm from him. 

Dean is a _sight_.

Drawing back, Castiel observes his handiwork. Dean is absolutely boneless, breathing heavily, the flush on his skin receding and a pleased smile stretched across his pretty lips. His eyes are closed, his pulse is jumping in his throat, and he’s starfished on the bed without a care in the world. Unable to resist, Castiel, from between Dean’s legs, leans forward with his hands on either side of Dean’s waist, dropping down to slide his nose against Dean’s. With proper notification Dean automatically turns his head and tilts his chin up, accepting the kiss that Castiel bestows upon him. It’s slow, languid, something reserved for a relationship deeper than what Castiel had contracted him for, but neither seem to care. 

“I could definitely do that again,” Dean says dreamily once he’s able.

Chuckling, Castiel withdraws from the bed. He leaves the bedroom to grab a warm wet cloth, returning to Dean so he can gently wipe him clean. The cloth goes into the hamper, Dean drags Castiel down onto the bed to curl into his arms, and they fall into a comfortable silence.

“Hey,” Dean perks up after about ten minutes. “Was I good?”

“Of course,” Castiel replies easily, caught off guard. After a second’s thought, he chuckles. “Ah, you’re looking for that reward, aren’t you?” 

Dean pulls back to send Castiel a cheeky grin. “Duh.” 

Rolling his eyes, Castiel shifts so he can meet Dean’s eyes. “In our next session we will have intercourse.”

Just as he thought it would, Dean’s nose wrinkles up and he looks close to gagging. “Y’know, I really wish you’d use slang, like, at least once a day.” 

“Would you rather I use the term ‘penetration’?” Castiel inquires, brows raised and expression serious, even if there might be the slightest glimmer in his eye.

Dean huffs. “We gotta work on your dirty talk.”

Castiel draws Dean close, using his strength to his advantage as he pins a squirming Dean to his chest. He drops his mouth to the boy’s ear, speaking lowly, “I assure you, Dean, when I’m buried balls deep in your sweet, tight hole, my dirty talk will be the last thing on your mind.” 

Dean goes rigid, freezing up for just a second in surprise. When it passes he shoves at Castiel’s shoulder as best as possible, given the fact that he’s squished, the laugh leaving his lips sounding a bit strangled. “Roger that, Sir.” 

“I just offered you a great reward, boy. What do you say?”

He can feel Dean’s smile against his chest when the boy curls up into him. “Thank you, Sir.” 

If Castiel thought he was screwed before bedding Dean - cheating on his wife notwithstanding - the sweet afterglow of orgasm certainly seals the deal. 

He only hopes that they can keep this bubble of happiness for as long as possible.

Come Hell or high water… Castiel knows that this is what he wants.

_Dean_ is what he wants. 

… He’s definitely screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote this story it wasn't gonna be chaptered but then I decided after it was complete to break it up, so the chapter lengths are super inconsistent. My apologies! But I'm sure the content of this chapter more than made up for it ☺


	6. Chapter 6

“How is Dean doing?”

Castiel and Daphne are in bed on a Wednesday night. Both wearing their glasses, both propped against the padded headboard with books in their laps, it’s been quiet for the past twenty minutes while they each get lost in their own worlds. Castiel lowers his worn copy of _Dune_, adjusting his glasses on his features as he debates on how to answer Daphne’s, admittedly, innocent query.

“He’s doing well,” Castiel says honestly. “He enjoys the lighter workload we have for him here.” 

“He’s such a good kid,” Daphne says wistfully. “And it’s so nice to see you out of your office when I come home every day.”

Castiel makes a noncommittal noise as he brings his book back up.

“I feel like we could do more for him, though,” she continues. 

Castiel hums.

“I know we’re paying him well, but I wonder if there’s anything else he wants?”

A dozen different x-rated memories fly through Castiel’s mind like a silent film; Dean on his back, spread out and naked; Dean on his hands and knees, tears streaming down his cheeks; Dean bent over the kitchen island, ass slapped red. Castiel turns the page, humming again. “Perhaps.”

“Will you ask him tomorrow?” Daphne asks, putting her bookmark in the pages she’s currently on. She closes her book and sets it on the nightstand, turning off her lamp as she starts to settle down for sleep.

“I will,” Castiel replies. His cock is half hard and he does his best to not draw attention to the flush of his body, reading the same line over and over again as he waits for Daphne to settle. When she does he closes his eyes, willing those succulent images of Dean out of his mind’s eye. He can’t concentrate on reading anymore so he, too, closes his book and turns off his lamp, settling down in the too-soft bed with his too-vanilla wife and his sham of a marriage.

Lovely.

\--

The next few weeks are bliss, even if it feels as though it’s encased in a snowglobe: beautiful, ensconced, and able to shatter into a million pieces if mishandled. Dean and Castiel make their way through the kink list; Dean breaks so beautifully, and Castiel crafts him whole once again with the tender, love, and care that Dean doesn’t seem to realize he craves and desires. 

Dean’s taken to wearing panties under his work clothes and sometimes Castiel will catch him before he showers, pinning Dean to the nearest surface or wall, nuzzling into his musky, sweaty throat, licking up sawdust, hay, and perspiration as he shoves a large hand into the front of Dean’s tight pants to feel the wetness spreading across the front of his panties. Sometimes Dean guzzles down glass after glass of water during lunch so he can squirm prettily on the bed a few hours later while Castiel deep throats him; the first time Castiel told him to let go Dean cried as he released his bladder into Castiel’s waiting mouth, shame and arousal burning through him so violently - and yet, not so violently that he resisted asking when he can return the favor, after he’d caught his breath. 

Sometimes they exchange photos through text. Dean had been a little apprehensive at first, but after a late night phone call that involved Castiel talking Dean off until he came all over himself, Dean had sent a photo of his soiled, freckled tummy, and the floodgates opened. They text nightly, occasionally peppering in a few photos - both scandalous and not - and Castiel revels in the simplicity.

The trust Dean puts in Castiel is, sometimes, overwhelming. Castiel spends so much time watching Dean, even when the boy knows he’s watching, unable to comprehend how lucky he is to have him in his life. Those thoughts usually lead to his marriage, his complicity in adultery, and the blatant breaking of his vows with Daphne. _Those_ thoughts remind him that Daphne is also sneaking behind his back - now that he knows what to look for he sees it quite clearly - and he’s left going in circles until he’s too dizzy to think anymore.

The best remedy for needing to turn off his brain is, of course, turning on Dean. 

This isn’t built to last. 

But as Castiel falls head over heels for the beautiful boy he gets to taste and hold five days a week… he starts to sense dread worming its way into his gut.

\--

“Somethin’ wrong?” 

Dean’s voice pulls Castiel out of his thoughts. Castiel is at the stove idly mashing the potatoes he cooked for potato soup. They’re over-mashed, now, which is a pity because he prefers his potato soup to be slightly on the chunky side. Tensing his jaw, Castiel pulls the masher out of the pot and then sets it on the counter, reaching up to rub idly at the bridge of his nose. 

“Why do you ask?” Castiel asks, reaching for the spice rack. 

“You uh, just seem a little out of it,” Dean says. He’s sitting at the kitchen island on a stool, dressed down today in athletic shorts that cling to his thighs and a t-shirt that hangs off of his frame.

“Daphne is wondering if you would like more than monetary compensation for your time spent here during the week,” Castiel says. He starts grinding salt into the pot, watching the crystals snow into the creamy mixture. 

“Uh,” Dean seems to be caught off-guard. “No, I’m good. I already get _plenty_,” he says, the lecherous tone of voice giving way to exactly what he’s talking about.

Castiel can’t help the way the corner of his lip quirks up. “Which she doesn’t know about, hence she feels as though you are being undervalued for your services.” 

Dean appears at Castiel’s elbow. He reaches out to take the salt grinder from him, gingerly, and then sets it on the counter before he gently turns Castiel towards him so they can make eye contact. Dean looks wise beyond his eighteen years when he says, “Somethin’s botherin’ you, Sir.”

Damn this observant boy and how intrinsically in tune he is with Castiel’s normally bottled up and carefully hidden emotions. Letting out a slow breath, Castiel reaches out to bring Dean into his chest, wrapping his arms around his slightly smaller form. Dean willingly goes, his arms around Castiel’s waist, pillowing his head on Castiel’s chest. “I would not say I am bothered, Dean.”

“Then what’s up?” Dean asks, voice muffled by Castiel’s polo.

“I am contemplating divorcing Daphne.”

Dean stiffens in Castiel’s arms. It takes him five seconds to pull away, look up at Castiel, and demand, “What the fuck?” 

“Surely you didn’t believe that I would continue to stay married to her when I am so unfulfilled,” Castiel says, arching a brow.

“But-” Dean’s brow furrows. He pulls away from Castiel, taking his warmth with him. “You said that your marriage was like a business transaction. That you knew there’s no passion or romantic love but it’s still somethin’ necessary to have. Why- why would you divorce her?”

“I can’t expect you to understand,” Castiel says. He turns back to the soup, stirring it a few times and then turning off the burner to let it congeal. 

“I ain’t some dumb kid that don’t understand how marriages work,” Dean says, a surprising amount of anger in his voice.

With slightly widened eyes, Castiel turns to Dean. “That is not what I was implying.” 

Dean takes another step away from Castiel, the space between them as deep and scary as the Grand Canyon. “What happens when you divorce her, huh? Y’all split half the estate, one of you moves into an apartment in the city. She goes off with Crowley, and then what? You and I live happily ever after?”

There’s a knife twisting in Castiel’s gut. “No, Dean-”

“_No_?” Dean lets out a humorless laugh. His features are hard, eyes verdant with passion and anger. “If you divorce her our shit is gonna come out, Cas.”

“Tell me what the negative of that is?” Castiel asks, trying to understand where Dean’s anger is coming from.

“I’m a distraction, man, not a means to an end!” Dean bursts. His eyes are starting to shine. “I can be the ‘other woman’ or whatever, I can give you a good time and let you fuck me like your wife won’t. But I ain’t gonna be the reason you divorce Daphne and everything y’all built together crumbles to the ground.”

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel says softly, impassioned by Dean’s emotions. “You are not the reason for this. Divorcing Daphne is something that has been looming over me for much longer than you and I have been having relations.” He lifts a hand to run it through his hair, gathering his thoughts. “Daphne is cheating on me, as I am cheating on her. Both of us are seeking fulfillment elsewhere. We are getting along better than ever, now, because we are sneaking around behind each other’s backs. It’s… not decent. Daphne is not an awful person. Just as I am not. And neither of us deserve to be deceived and fooled.” He meets Dean’s gaze. “I will not tell her about you, if that is what you want. But her and I _do_ need to separate, for both our sanities.”

Dean runs his hands through his hair, squeezes the back of his neck, scrubs his palm over his mouth, and then covers his eyes. He’s clearly trying to get a grip on his emotions and it might be inappropriate, given the conversation topic, but Castiel can’t help but find him so beautiful. So raw with emotion, unable to hide how he’s feeling or what he’s thinking, Dean has so many lovely, generous, _real_ qualities. Not only does Castiel feel guilty going behind Daphne’s back, but sometimes… he feels guilty for tying Dean to him. 

Surely, Dean deserves better, too.

It’s in this moment, exactly, that Castiel decides to stop being selfish. 

“I am going to talk to Daphne tonight. I understand if you do not wish to continue our relationship, Dean.” 

That makes Dean’s attention whip back to Castiel, eyes wide, lips parted, and brows knit in confusion. “What?” 

“You are right. You are not a means to an end. It would be wrong of me to continue to take advantage of you-”

“Woah, woah,” Dean lifts a hand, looking scandalized. “Who said you were taking advantage of me?”

Castiel blinks. “I did.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I ain’t a damsel, Cas. I can take care of myself. Our arrangement sure as hell ain’t _taking advantage_ of anything.” Then, his features close off slightly. “You- you wanna… end our relationship?”

“You made it very clear from the beginning that it was not to be a romantic contract.”

“_And_?” 

“And, I have broken that agreement.”

Dean gawps. His mouth falls open, his eyes widen, and he looks utterly shell-shocked. An awkward silence falls over them and it takes Dean a few aborted tries before he finally asks, in a very meek voice, “You love me?”

“Not quite,” Castiel says. “But I could, with time.”

Placing his hands over his face, Dean looks tiny. Young. Afraid. It’s been only two months since they’ve started their arrangement and Castiel has had Dean in many ways, physically and obediently; he knows the boy’s body inside and out, can get a grip on his emotions quicker than Dean himself can. He has recognized that Dean is an adult and can make his own decisions and take care of himself, which has also led him to recognize that Dean _allows_ Castiel to be his Dom, to take care of him and service him. Dean holds all the cards. 

Castiel is at his mercy. 

When Dean pulls his hands away from his face, he sends Castiel an even, steady gaze. “You’re going to divorce Daphne.”

“That is the plan,” Castiel says with a small nod. 

A muscle jumps in Dean’s jaw, before he turns on heel. “I quit.” 

Castiel watches Dean exit the kitchen, listens to him go into ‘his’ bedroom, hears him plod down the marble hallway to the front door, his work boots thudding messily on the ground. The front door opens, closes, and Castiel feels the weight of the world crushing him. 

He goes through things in a daze. He puts the lid on the pot of potato soup and puts it in the fridge, knowing he and Daphne will be eating out of it for the next few days. He cleans up his mess, makes sure the kitchen is pristine again, and then finds his feet automatically walking down towards Dean’s room. The door had been left ajar, and it takes nothing for him to reach out and push it open. 

The clothes Dean had been wearing are folded neatly on the bed. Castiel sits on the edge of the queen-sized mattress and picks up the t-shirt Dean discarded, feeling the fabric in his fingers. His mind keeps replaying Dean’s fierce look, the determination in his eyes as he walked away from Castiel; he takes in a shuddery breath, and then lifts up the t-shirt to his face so he can bury himself in it, inhaling Dean’s scent and already beginning the mourning process. 

Too much of a good thing spoils a man. 

Dean deserved better.

\--

When Daphne comes home, Castiel is sitting at the kitchen table. There’s a bottle of his best scotch and an empty tumbler in front of him, and he’s staring at the empty chair across from him. Daphne sets her purse on the island, takes up residence in the chair Castiel is staring at, and then reaches out to put her hand over his with all the love and care in the world that she’s given him for the past fifteen years. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Dean quit,” Castiel says, his voice as numb and bland as he feels inside.

He hears Daphne’s frown in her voice, “Why?” 

“We had a disagreement.” 

Her dainty fingers gently squeeze over his hand. “Are you mad at him?”

“He is mad at me.”

“Would you like me to talk to him?”

“I think it is best to let it rest.” 

There’s a brief pause, and then Daphne’s other hand comes to rest of Castiel’s. “What can I do?” 

Castiel finally lifts his gaze to look at Daphne. She’s beautiful, her hair done in a pretty chignon, pearls in her ears, an elegant but chic maxi dress draped over her frame. Castiel loves her, he does, but not in the way she needs - not in the way _he_ needs. He turns his hand over in hers, finding a few fingers to lace with, and then speaks quietly. “We should get a divorce.”

Daphne’s features soften. He doesn’t deserve her. He doesn’t deserve anything. She squeezes his hands, resting her elbows on the table and leaning on them slightly. “Are you sure?”

Castiel nods, no longer able to trust his voice. 

His wife stands from her seat and rounds the table, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and drawing him into her bosom for an embrace. He doesn’t return it, but he sags into her, closing his eyes and smelling her familiar perfume, listening to her gentle heartbeat. “Ok.” 

Why doesn’t he feel relieved?

\--

Three weeks pass. He and Daphne part on amicable terms. They decide to separate instead of divorce, wanting to keep a few things tied together - and why not? They get along. They’re still friends. They want to keep their shared stock in a few things and have agreed to actually, really be financial partners. Castiel moves out of the large home and instead buys a smaller house on the other side of the city, away from the farms and a little closer to suburbia. Daphne hires on different help for her modest ranch. Castiel continues on. 

He doesn’t hear from Dean. Sometimes he opens up their old text threads and reads through them; along with sending each other photos or videos, most of the messages consist of ‘please bring this’ or ‘hey do u think I can work longer tmrw? Dad’s on one’. They’re casual, no incrimination, but at least Castiel has as a reminder of what happened between them. Memories of Dean in various positions, memories of his good boy, his Princess, those haunt him when he closes his eyes at night. 

He works from home, still. He’s a shut-in, and he can’t be bothered to change it. He orders his groceries online and has them delivered, if he’s feeling fancy he has UberEats deliver from his favorite Italian restaurant. He meets with Daphne on Wednesdays to have an in-person meeting about their accounts, her gaze on him all too knowing, her body language comforting, but her words professional. Castiel starts to wonder if she knows about Dean - or if she suspects. He won’t ask. She won’t bring it up. 

Two months after the split, a call comes through the music playing in Castiel’s airpods. He doesn’t check the caller ID on his cell, swiping to accept the call, slightly breathless from running on the treadmill for the past twenty minutes.

“Novak.”

“Uh… hey.” 

Castiel nearly trips over his own feet. He presses the quick stop on the control board of his treadmill, slowing his gait until he stops moving completely. Staring down at his phone he sees that he is, indeed, connected to Dean, a cheeky selfie of the boy taking up the screen. He grips the arms of the treadmill tightly, knuckles white.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Am I uh, interrupting something?” Dean asks, hesitation in his voice.

Castiel realizes he’s slightly out of breath. Clearing his throat, he grabs his towel from the rack to start mopping the sweat off of his features. “No. I was just on the treadmill.”

“Oh.” A pause, and then. “I, uh. I stopped by the house today… Daphne was there.” 

A muscle jumps in Castiel’s jaw. “Ah. Did you need something?”

There’s a moment’s pause. Castiel looks down at his phone to make sure the call is still connected. 

“Yeah, I do need something.”

Castiel is prepared for Dean to tell him that he forgot something in ‘his’ bedroom, or some tools, or is looking for a recipe for something Castiel cooked so that he can feed it to his little brother. 

What he’s not prepared for, is for Dean to say, “I need you.”

Heart in his throat, Castiel covers his mouth to silence the wounded noise that leaves it. After he’s sure he can speak without his voice breaking, Castiel takes in a slow, steady breath. “Dean-”

“Please,” Dean’s voice is suddenly desperate, like he’s been bottling up his words and emotions for months. Perhaps he has been. “Sir, I- I was pissed for stupid reasons. Mostly at myself, ‘cause I said goin’ into our arrangement that it would be strictly physical and then I ate my own fuckin’ foot ‘cause man, after two weeks, I was gone on you.”

“Language,” Castiel says distractedly, absorbing Dean’s words. 

“I went by your house today because I wanted to throw myself at your feet, give you my body again in exchange for just bein’ near you. Then I saw Daphne and she said you’d moved and I… Fuck, man, I lost it. I’m so embarrassed. I started cryin’ and Daphne felt so bad, but I couldn’t tell her why I was upset, and it’s stupid, y’know? Me cryin’ over somethin’ that was my own damn fault. I didn’t know you’d told her about us.” 

“I didn’t,” Castiel replies dumbly, brows lifting on his forehead. “What did she say?”

“What?” Dean sniffles, and Castiel envisions him wiping at his runny nose, an adorable frown creasing his features. “You didn’t? But she- she said you two separated because you’d been cheatin’ on her with me and she was with Mr. Crowley…” Castiel’s heart stops again. “And she said she’d been wondering if we’d gotten together, and I couldn’t stop crying, man, it was so pathetic. An’ then she told me to call you…”

It’s quiet for a few moments. Dean’s breathing is still uneven and ragged while Castiel tries to wrap his head around the fact that Daphne, indeed, knew about his relationship with Dean, and had handled it with poise and grace. Not only that, she’d directed Dean back to Castiel when Dean had showed up on her doorstep… 

“Where are you now?” 

“Walkin’ down your new long ass driveway. You couldn’ta got an apartment or some shit? Have you even left your office-”

Castiel hangs up and yanks his airpods out of his ears, hopping off of the treadmill to jog down the steps of his house. His sneakers squeak on the hardwood floor of his foyer, the blinds next to his front door rattling as he swings it open. His house is situated on five acres of mostly trees and forest, secluded just the way he likes. The driveway is long, gravel, and prevents solicitors from wandering onto his doorstep. He practically leaps off his front porch, sweaty and breathless from working out and the new prospect of seeing Dean for the first time in over two months. 

The driveway curves, revealing Dean. He’s wearing jeans, boots, and a henley, appropriate for the autumn weather, and even from this short distance, he’s as beautiful as Castiel remembers him. He seems surprised to see Castiel running towards him, so Castiel slows down until he’s briskly walking. 

“Heya,” Dean calls, giving a two-finger salute with the hand not holding a duffel bag that looks like it contains all of his earthly belongings, the zipper left one-third open. His grin is cocky and casual, but his eyes are slightly puffy and pink, guarded, and his shoulders are tense. 

Castiel doesn’t stop in his stride until he’s enveloping Dean in his embrace. All tension bleeds from the boy’s body and he clings to Castiel, uncaring of the sweat and grime, burying his face into the man’s neck and dropping his bag to clutch onto him so tight Castiel is sure neither of them can breathe properly. Starting to walk backwards, dragging Dean with him, Castiel keeps him close.

“My beautiful boy,” Castiel can’t help but say, “what are you doing here?” 

“Like I said,” Dean replies, voice muffled in Castiel’s throat as their feet trip over each other. He manages to scoop up his bag as they move. “Went to your house. You weren’t there. Got directions here.”

“Where is your car?” Castiel finally pulls away, and with his question he realizes he never knew how Dean gets anywhere. 

“I uh, bussed,” Dean says, ducking his gaze. “I’ll explain everything but dude, you need a shower.” 

Castiel chuckles, shifting to walk side by side with Dean, reveling in the physical contact of his arm draped around the boy’s shoulders to keep him tucked into his side. He almost can’t believe this is real. Dean stays close, his arm draped across Castiel’s sweaty lower back, whistling low when the house comes into view. 

“Usually people downsize after a divorce.”

“I did,” Castiel says, rolling his eyes. “The outside looks rather… magnanimous, but it is much simpler than my old house. More… me.” 

“Yeah,” Dean chuckles lightly. “Daphne’s a good decorator but you seemed a little out of place, there.”

“This house only has one living room,” Castiel says mournfully as they climb the front porch.

Dean snickers, respectfully taking his boots off outside as Castiel opens the front door. Inside truly is more ‘simple’; instead of marble it’s hardwood, the whole main floor is open concept with a living room, formal dining room, kitchen, and a powder room tucked off to the side. The stairs leading to the second level are tucked near the restroom, and on the second floor are two bedrooms and a master suite. Comparably, this house is definitely a downsize. But charming Dean, who is still clearly not used to the finer things in life, looks around with interest and amusement. The color palette is all earth tones; taupes, blues, greens, with splashes of indigo and crimson. The arrangement looks worthy of a catalogue but it’s warm, inviting, and Castiel knows Dean approves when his body language relaxes and he wanders further into the home. 

“Dean-”

“Cas-”

They halt their words, facing each other. Dean’s hand are tucked into the pockets of his well-worn jeans, which are threadbare in the knees but not quite torn, yet.

“How are you?” Castiel asks softly. 

Dean licks his plush lips, drawing Castiel’s gaze to them, then shrugs casually. “Alright.” 

Castiel narrows his eyes. “Do not lie to me.” 

Dean’s jaw tenses. “Don’t use that tone of voice with me.”

Running a hand down his features, Castiel passes Dean to make towards the kitchen. “Let’s have a drink. It’s very hot outside and you’ve been walking for a while.” 

Dean follows, taking a seat at the kitchen table. Castiel pours them both a glass of ice water, sitting opposite of Dean, keeping all of his limbs to himself as he waits for Dean to actually answer his question. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait long. 

“When I quit, my dad was pissed,” Dean starts, cupping his glass and staring down into it. “Wanted to know why. Told him you and I had a disagreement. He was gonna go to your house, guns a’blazin’, to try and ‘set you straight’ and take me back. It was embarrassin’ for him, me quitting good work. He was mad that he lent me out over the summer only for me to come back with my tail between my legs.” From what little Castiel has heard of John Winchester, he knows that the man runs a very strict household. Dean always speaks of him with respect, but there’s always a bit of reticence in his voice. “I told him not to bother you. He was still pissed, so I uh…” Dean lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck. “I told him I left ‘cause I had a crush on you and didn’t wanna be found out.”

Castiel blinks, breathing out, “Dean.” 

“Boy, did he yell,” Dean laughs humorlessly. “Hooted n’ hollered for hours, felt like. Said he didn’t raise a fag, a pervert. Felt bad for you ‘cause surely all I was doin’ when I was over at your place was droolin’ and makin’ you uncomfortable. Said it was a good thing I quit so that I didn’t make any mistakes or embarrass myself - or the Winchester name.”

Anger bubbles up in Castiel’s gut. He clenches his fists in his lap and lets out a slow, steady breath. “Are you alright?” 

“He didn’t-” Dean shakes his head quickly. “He didn’t rough me up or nothin’ but he put me to work real good. Made me take over Sammy’s chores and basically forced him to go on vacation to get outta the house with his friends, since I’d ‘wasted’ so much time bein’ at your place for nothin’ all summer.” Dean looks down at his work roughened hands, sliding the tips of his fingers over his calloused palms. “He grounded me from the cars. Which- fuck, man. I’m eighteen and grounded. Bullshit. But I live under his roof,” he slouches slightly in his chair, tipping his head back to look up at the ceiling. “So it’s his way or the highway. But then I started thinkin’... maybe the highway wouldn’t be so bad.” His fingers start fidgeting with each other, his gaze still steady on the ceiling. “I decided to see if you’d take me back. For work, anyway- see if I could get room an’ board at your giant mansion. Wanted to make an honest living and try to… make up for everything that happened, y’know? So I packed as much of my shit as I could into a duffel bag, hitch hiked to your place, only to find out you weren’t there.” He lets out a reedy laugh. “Can’t tell you how lost… and stupid I felt.” 

Castiel reaches out, gently laying his hands over Dean’s. Dean’s hands turn, gripping him back tightly. 

Green eyes finally lower from the ceiling to lock onto Castiel’s. His voice is barely a whisper as he says, “I got scared. I couldn’t believe someone like you would give someone like me the time of day, let alone multiple orgasms.” Castiel’s lips twitch at the self-deprecating humor despite himself. “You said you could love me one day and it scared me ‘cause I realized I already loved you.”

Castiel’s chest tightens. Dean falls quiet. After a few moments Castiel stands up, hands still on Dean’s, encouraging him to stand up as well. 

“Come shower with me.” 

Dean looks a little wary. He just bared his heart for Castiel and is clearly looking for some sort of confirmation, or justification, but Castiel just shakes his head softly and sends Dean a small smile. 

“Shower first.” 

Dean follows Castiel up the stairs to the second floor. They enter the master bedroom and beeline for the bathroom, where a large claw-footed tub takes up a whole corner, a glass-encased shower adjacent to it. There’s a vanity with two sinks lined up on the wall, and a small divide where the toilet is tucked away into privacy. It’s a mixture of tile, wood, and brass, very rustic and very ‘Castiel’. He knows Dean approves when he doesn’t make a snarky comment. Opening the shower stall to turn on the spray, Castiel adjusts the temperature and turns around to see Dean carefully undressing and folding his clothes, putting them on the counter top neatly in the way Castiel had conditioned him to. Castiel’s own clothes go into the laundry hamper and soon enough they’re enclosed in the shower with the warm, steamy spray, Castiel already beginning the task of gently soaping up Dean, who allows him to do so with trust in his eyes and a determined tilt of his mouth.

“It was not my intention for things to turn out the way they did,” Castiel starts, voice muted with the falling water. “I put it upon myself to take care of you, and I ended up hurting you.” Dean opens his mouth and Castiel sends him a pointed look, which the boy heeds, quieting. “We are not perfect, Dean. We are humans. Fallible. We make mistakes, especially when it comes to matters of the heart.” He chooses his next words carefully, fingers working shampoo into Dean’s honeyed locks. “I don’t regret anything. Everything we experienced together I treasure. In your absence…” Castiel meets Dean’s eyes. “I knew that I loved you, and yet I forced myself to be blind - a poor judgment call on my behalf, as I thought I was protecting you by controlling my own feelings.”

Dean’s eyes close. His lashes are wet from water but the flush on his cheeks lets Castiel know that they’re wet from tears, too. He draws Dean close, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, rinsing the shampoo from his hair before working on massaging the conditioner into his scalp. 

“I never knew what romantic love was, until I met you,” Castiel murmurs. “I love my wife. I always have and I always will. But what I feel for you…” Again, his lips press to Dean’s forehead. “Nothing holds a candle to it. You make me feel… alive, young, free. I’d never been so focused and successful at work without the repercussions of losing sleep due to working so hard. I’ve never been physically healthier, and my mental health… was indescribable.”

“‘Cause you weren’t holed up in your office all day,” Dean mumbles petulantly.

The smile that spreads on Castiel’s lips feels like the sun coming out on a cloudy day. “My boy…” Rinsing the conditioner out, Castiel cups Dean’s jaw to tilt his head back so their gazes can meet. “My love. Please stay with me. We have so much to discuss but I am telling you right now: I need you, too.”

“Ok,” Dean says without hesitation. He reaches up to gently wrap his fingers around Castiel’s wrists, like he’s done so many times, in so many situations, before. “Yes, Sir.” 

Castiel steals him into a kiss, pouring the past two months of regret and desperation into it. Dean returns it just as emotionally, arms lifting to wrap around Castiel’s neck and pull him close. They end up with Dean’s back against the tiled wall of the shower, water sluicing down their bodies to suction them together as their mouths devour. Castiel’s hands wander down Dean’s arms, feeling the definition of the muscles and the softness of his skin, and the errant regret that this is their first shower together filters through his thoughts before Dean lets out a delicious, needy noise.

“Dean,” Castiel breathes into the boy’s mouth, teeth catching on his swollen lower lip for a sharp nip. “Have you had anyone else?”

“No,” Dean’s voice cracks.

Knowing that Dean had been abstinent during their time apart ramps up Castiel’s libido considerably, that possessive flare inside him roaring. Such a beautiful boy, capable of having anyone, yet he saved himself… 

He grips Dean by the waist tightly, relishing the way Dean sucks in his breath in response, lowering his mouth to Dean’s neck. “To whom do you belong?” 

Dean’s head tilts to grant Castiel more access, his fingers tangling in the man’s wet hair. “Y-you.” 

“May I mark you, Dean?” Castiel asks. Their kink list is in the back of his mind but if Dean truly is going to stay with Castiel, if they are truly going to be together… then there is no need to hide their relationship, and Castiel would _love_ to mark up Dean’s sweet, sunkissed skin. 

“Please,” Dean breathes.

They’re going to need to have a lengthy conversation soon, but for now, their time apart gapes like a chasm between them, and Castiel is desperate to close it. Each noise Dean makes is a cable on a bridge, his hands trying to find purchase on Castiel’s slippery body the hammer to the nails. Castiel holds him so close they might merge together, his teeth sinking into the meat of Dean’s throat, purpling the skin and soothing it with his tongue. He mottles Dean’s skin from jaw to collarbone before pulling away, reaching out to turn off the shower. Goosebumps break out over Dean’s skin when he opens the door to help the boy out, grabbing a towel and tenderly ruffling the boy’s sandy hair, patting the terry cloth over the curves of his shoulders. 

“As thrilling as our relations tend to be,” Castiel says when Dean takes the towel for himself. “I think I’d like to spread you out and take my time.”

“Don’t you usually do that?” Dean asks, a bit of familiar cheek to his voice as he wraps the towel around his waist. 

Castiel dries himself perfunctorily, sending Dean a pointed look. “You know what I mean.”

Dean sends him a radiant smile. “I don’t think I do.” 

Hanging up his towel, Castiel turns towards Dean, reaching out without warning to grab the boy, manhandling him close enough to haul him up over his shoulder with one arm. His free hand swats at Dean’s ass, the skin damp enough still to let the most delicious sound echo through the bathroom. Dean yelps in surprise, then moans unabashed, bracing himself with his hands on the small of Castiel’s back as he walks out into the bedroom. Castiel lowers Dean down onto the soft bedding with reverence, kisses down the line of his throat with adoration, then settles between his legs like a lost lover, which at this point he may as well be. Dean’s gone from cheeky and bratty to flushed and submissive, stretching his body out, reaching up with his hands to grip the slats of the headboard. His spine arches, his perky nipples on display, the vee of his pelvis pronounced compared to the way his cock stands erect. 

Castiel’s mouth moves over Dean’s skin like flowers to the sun. Kisses, nips, licks; Dean keeps his hands on the headboard without instruction, and Castiel lets his palms and fingers wander, relearning the dips and planes of Dean’s young, taut body. He’s a smidge skinnier now than when he left Castiel just a few short months ago, causing Castiel to kiss intent into the sharp lines of his hips and the softness of his tummy, swearing to himself that he’ll never let this boy go uncared for, ever again. Dean had defied his father, gone to Daphne, and returned to Castiel all in the same day…

Exhaling slowly, Castiel presses a kiss to the side of Dean’s leaking shaft. He props himself up a bit so he can reach towards the bedside table and grab the unopened bottle of lube, ripping open the plastic seal with his teeth and spitting it aside as he simultaneously coats his fingers. Dean’s lashes are framing his dark eyes, flush high on his cheeks making the gold in his irises sparkle. He watches Castiel with trust written in every line of his features and body, then sucks in a breath when Castiel works his forefinger past his tight ring of muscle.

Penetrative sex hadn’t happened every time they were together. Castiel loved toying with Dean, figuring out all the ways he could make him come without fucking the boy’s hole with his cock; and how could he not get lost in that joy, when Dean’s young body gave itself over to him so completely? Needless to say, Castiel has never felt shorted in the least, gaining the most of his pleasure from providing Dean with pleasure, but now the need to be joined with his boy is stronger than ever. 

One finger becomes two, cursory, the knowledge that Dean likes the stretch and burn keeping him from indulging too much with the preparation. Dean keeps his white-knuckled grip on the slats but sends Castiel a heated gaze, wordlessly communication his readiness. Castiel slicks his own cock, rests his forehead against Dean’s to hold eye contact from the most minimal of distances, and then slides into Dean’s willing, hot, _tight_ body.

This is not a scene. Dean is restraining himself not to be submissive, but to give Castiel full control and trust in the situation. There were moments when Castiel had been sure Dean didn’t know the depths of which Castiel reached to make sure that the boy was satisfied, taken care of; but right here, right now, Dean under him and around him, Castiel has no doubt that Dean never wavered. 

Dean’s arms finally wrap around Castiel’s chest, shifting and rocking his hips against him to flip them over in a slow, sinuous motion. Castiel goes willingly, sinking into the pillows and blankets, hands on Dean’s hips as he looks up at the boy with what he knows is mad love shining in his eyes. Dean rocks his pelvis, grinds on Castiel’s cock, his lashes fluttering and fingernails digging into the swell of Castiel’s pecs. Castiel’s hands on his hips help Dean move, grind, flow, both of them knowing that they are well past their ‘arrangement’, that this is _making love_. There’s no frenzy, no hurry, Dean’s usually bratty and impatient demeanor where his orgasm is involved seemingly non existent. Castiel wraps his thick fingers around Dean’s leaking cock, shifts so that he can sit up against the headboard, gaining the leverage he needs to fuck into Dean’s pliant body. It’s like this that they crest, clinging to each other, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed as Dean spills between them and Castiel stuffs him full. 

Coming down from the high, they breathe in sync. They open their eyes at the same time, share a sweet kiss, and then allow the smiles to curl over their lips.

“How can I ever express to you how much you mean to me?” Castiel murmurs.

That spark ignites in Dean’s eyes, charming Castiel all over again. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

Castiel, wrapped in the comfort and security of his first true love, knows that they will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a fun fact: I did NOT expect this story to get this kind of feedback/interest/attention. It's so different from what I usually write, and since it was a prompt/request, i stepped out of my comfort zone and wrote it til completion without thinking of anything... extra. So to a lot of you, the story ending like this might not be very fulfilling. And that's understandable! But unavoidable at this point lol. As of now I'm reworking the epilogue to be a little... ~more~, but I know now I will be leaving this universe open to continue exploring.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, supporting, and enjoying this work ♡ Stay tuned for the epilogue!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the latest addition to the tags!

[epilogue]

**Two years later…**

_Cas: 47_

_Dean: 20_

Castiel has yet to grow tired of Dean. He’s fairly sure that he never will. Waking up with the boy every day is a blessing and falling asleep with him is an answered prayer. In the two years since Dean showed up in his driveway, their lives have shifted and morphed to work around one another. 

Castiel sold off part of his company so he could settle into an early retirement, his pension and investments in the company’s stock keeping his bank account nice and hefty. Since retiring he found bees to be a good way to pass the day time, the backyard now an apiary heaven with ten hive boxes and so many bee-friendly flowers that Zyrtec is now a daily addition to his morning dose of vitamins. He loves his peaceful, quiet home, tucked away in the woods on private acres, loves tending to his bees and harvesting their honeycombs, and he especially loves how genuinely _happy_ he is.

Dean, no longer under his father’s thumb and responsible for the Winchester ranch, had shyly asked Castiel what he thought about him attending college. Castiel had readily agreed, and Dean had surprised him by announcing he’d like to major in engineering and business; the boy was keen on opening up an auto repair shop and running his own business. Dean’s doing exceptionally well in school, has a vibrant social life, and even sees his brother frequently. 

John Winchester pretends his eldest son doesn’t exist, and while Castiel knows that it hurts Dean, he’d rather live their lives without the man’s disapproval tainting their happiness.

And oh, are they happy.

Castiel’s predictions about Dean growing into his body prove true. Dean gains an inch or two on Castiel, his shoulders broaden, his thighs thicken. His waist is still svelte, his face only slightly more rugged with the appearance of stubble, lashes long and lips still sinful. That delicate balance between masculine and… less masculine… has only amplified, and Castiel finds himself more and more attracted as the boy ages. Sure, he’d been a treat when he’d been an, ahem, twink, but the _man_ Dean is growing into… 

Well.

Castiel has no complaints.

And _oh_, has Dean blossomed! Now no longer worried about his father Dean has fully bloomed. He’s carefree, fun, witty and a downright delight. The shadows that hovered at the corners of his beautiful eyes no longer linger, his smiles coming easier and truer, the love he has to give extended beyond Castiel and to his friends and brother. 

Yes, things are going quite well.

Castiel has been ruminating on their beginning, for the past few days, and thought of something mildly alarming. 

Their first time together, he’d promised Dean a treat, and then had told him ‘later’. Dean, beautiful, obedient boy, had agreed, and then forgotten. Subsequently, so had Castiel. In fact, now that he thinks of it, Dean’s rewards hadn’t ever really come to fruition, when he’d been with Daphne. Four hours a day wasn’t nearly enough time to truly give the boy everything he deserved. 

Chewing idly on his thumb, arm tucked across his chest, Castiel stares out the sliding glass doors that lead to the backyard. 

He’ll need to remedy this immediately.

\--

“S-Sir…” Dean pants out, lean body writhing on the bed, wrists cuffed to the wood slats of the headboard. Not only has his body filled out over the past two years, but his voice has gotten deeper, rougher, Castiel loving the way it pours over his skin like whiskey on ice. 

Castiel hums idly in reply, teasing the plug around Dean’s rim, watching the muscle flex and flutter to try and suck in the toy. Dean’s toes are curled, his skin is flushed, his nipples hard as his cock drools precum into his bellybutton. After a few more teasing presses Dean’s hole finally slurps the plug up, Castiel’s index finger simultaneously pressing the button on the base that turns on the vibrations. Dean howls with pleasure, his entire body quaking, Castiel having to let out a short breath to try and keep himself under control. His boy is always so responsive, so beautiful… so wrecked. 

“Today is a special treat for you, Princess,” Castiel purrs, reaching up to gently trace his finger over the pink lace choker wrapped around Dean’s pretty neck. Green eyes open to look at Castiel through fluttering lashes, Dean’s bottom lip quivering with every exhale. “I was doing some thinking today and realized… in the beginning of our relationship, I unintentionally withheld rewards from you.”

Dean’s brows furrow slightly. Of course, Dean hasn’t probably thought of that, or even noticed in the first place, so Castiel bringing it up now is likely confusing. Even so, Castiel continues.

“I reviewed our kink list. There’s something we forgot to put on it, something that I asked you about but never followed through on…”

He can practically see the gears turning in Dean’s head, despite the fact he’s nearly delirious with pleasure. Castiel’s body shifts so he can straddle Dean’s hips, knees tucked tight into the boy’s sides, his wet rim sliding along the length of Dean’s hard cock. The lightbulb practically bursts behind Dean’s eyes and his jaw drops open with a needy groan, his hips rocking upwards. 

“Fuck, S-Sir, please-” 

As this is a reward, Castiel decides to not drag it out. He reaches down to grip the base of Dean’s erection, lining it up so the head drags against his stretched, wet hole, before he sinks down on it in one movement. Clenching his teeth, Castiel does his best to remember the last time he’s bottomed for someone… and comes up blank. The wind gets knocked out of him when he realizes that Dean is the first to penetrate him; he wrangles his emotions in the blink of an eye, resting his hands on the pillow on either side of Dean’s head, marveling at the way Dean keeps his hips still, awaiting orders. Staring down into those pretty spring greens Castiel licks his top row of teeth, then sends a wolfish smile down at Dean. 

“Take my virginity, boy.”

Something dark and beautiful flashes in Dean’s eyes at Castiel’s words, realization sinking in. With his hands cuffed to the headboard he can’t get a full range of motion, but he plants his feet and fucks up into Castiel’s body, lashes fluttering as he starts up a smooth, steady rhythm. Castiel’s rather impressed; he figured by this point Dean would be an uncoordinated mess, what with the vibrating plug in his ass, his hands bound, and his cock in a hole ten times tighter than Castiel’s mouth. Castiel meets each of his thrusts, grinds his hips down, and while just the sensation of Dean’s cock stuffing him full is quite heady, he wants to feel that burst of pleasure, that white-hot stimulation.

Bending his elbows, lowering his chest to Dean’s, the angle changes. He spreads his knees wider and suddenly Dean’s cock is brushing against that spot that makes Castiel’s vision blur, a ragged, low moan pulled from his throat before he buries his face in Dean’s neck. Dean gives an answering moan in return, no doubt relishing the way Castiel’s body clenches every time he presses against that spot; it doesn’t take long for their mouths to find each other, and it doesn’t take long for either of them to find release. 

Castiel comes, untouched, spilling between them. He milks Dean’s cock but the boy surprises him by staving off his orgasm with a pained, fucked-out shout, his hips stuttering to still. Castiel pulls off of Dean’s cock and immediately goes ass-to-mouth, swallowing down Dean’s erection in one go and pressing on the plug to get it at just the right angle. That’s all it takes for Dean to blow, coming with a shout and pouring his seed into Castiel’s waiting mouth. With his cum pooled on his tongue, Castiel spreads Dean’s legs and removes the plug and turns it off, tilting the boy’s hips up so he can feed the cum into his hole, lapping around the rim, saliva and spunk creating a beautiful mess before he plugs him back up again. Having Dean’s own cum stuffed inside his hole has Castiel’s cock giving another interested twitch, but he ignores it in favor of reaching up to unlock the handcuffs. 

Dean’s arms come down, Castiel massages his wrists, a comfortable, post-orgasm silence falling over them. They tend to spend a few moments without exchanging words, instead exchanging sweet touches and caresses, this time Dean reaching down to grip Castiel’s ass where it’s perched on his thighs, getting to palmfuls of the meaty globes and giving them a nice, voracious squeeze. The smile on his lips is goofy and sated, his skin still flushed with pleasure. Castiel leans down and presses a slow, sensual kiss to his lips. 

Dean breaks the silence first, “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” 

“I love to keep things interesting,” Casteil concedes with a small smile. 

“I never noticed, y’know,” Dean says as they shift to lie next to each other, arms and legs tangled. He presses his face into the crook of Castiel’s neck. “That I didn’t get the rewards. I mostly asked for a treat ‘cause I was a brat.” 

“Even brats can be good boys and earn rewards,” Castiel hums. “At the time I was more concerned with… testing the waters, I suppose. It was a constant fear that I would, at some point, overwhelm you.”

“Shit, Cas, you overwhelm me all the time,” Dean says with a warm chuckle. “That’s one of the reasons I love you. ‘Cause no matter what you put on me, in or out of the bedroom, I know you’ll help me get things figured out.”

Castiel squeezes Dean’s slightly larger frame, cheek pressed to soft, sandy blond hair. “Then I suppose I have another overwhelming thing to ask of you…” 

“Mm?” Dean presses a soft kiss to Castiel’s collarbone.

“Would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Dean’s whole body tenses up in Castiel’s arms. It takes a moment, but when he pulls back to look at Castiel’s features his expression is slack with awe and surprise, green eyes searching Castiel’s. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly,” Castiel says, reaching up to thumb Dean’s chin affectionately. “I apologize for not having a ring or a more romantic setting, but… it feels right to ask you.”

Dean rolls his eyes a little, dropping his chin to nip at Castiel’s thumb. “Asking me to marry you after rocking my world is the only way I want it. But you’re really sure? You’ll have to divorce Daphne for real.” 

“At this point, with my retirement, divorcing Daphne won’t cause either of us any inconvenience. It will be a clean cut,” Castiel says, pressing his thumb past Dean’s lips to put pressure on his lower row of teeth. “Besides, it will leave her free to marry Crowley.” 

Dean searches Castiel’s features for a moment, before reaching up and removing his thumb from his mouth, lacing their fingers together. “Sometimes I still can’t believe you’re real, y’know that? Despite everything we’ve gone through, you’ve always thought about everyone else’s best interests and made sure everyone around you was happy. Daphne cheated on you first, and yeah, you cheated on her, too, but you were still thinking about the fact that she found happiness with someone else, and that made _you_ happy, ‘cause even though you weren’t _in love_ with her, you still loved her, and you cared about her feelings.”

“I only wanted to do what was right,” Castiel says simply. 

“Wanting to do the right thing and actually _doing_ the right thing are two different beasts,” Dean says with a little snort. “Hell, til’ I got with you, my moral compass was pretty skewed.” He brings Castiel’s hand up to his mouth so he can kiss over his knuckles, eyes shining with adoration and love. “I’d be more’n happy to spend the rest of my life with you, Cas.” 

Castiel draws his boy into his chest once more, dipping his head to lay a loving kiss to his waiting, plush mouth. 

Castiel hadn’t started living until he met Dean. Now, with the young man at his side… Castiel feels as though he can conquer anything.

“Should I ask your father’s permission for your hand?”

Dean slaps him on the chest, rolling his eyes. Castiel retorts by grinning and slipping his finger between the lace choker and the boy’s skin, snapping it with a playful glint in his eye. “I ain’t a damsel,” the young man says, echoing words from years ago. 

“You’re right,” Castiel says, holding Dean’s offending palm to his chest, directly over his heart. “It was I who needed saving.” 

The grass truly is greener on the other side.

\--

****BONUS****  
_6 years later…_

_Cas: 53_

_Dean: 26 _

The restaurant Castiel had chosen for Sunday brunch has plenty of outdoor seating, the eatery itself tucked into an old barn refashioned into a cafe-slash-gift shop. The tables outside are outfitted with mini stoves for warmth in the winter, fairy lights stringing all of their umbrellas together for the summer, and today, being a crisp Spring day, means that guests require both the shade and the heat. 

Dean pulls out Daphne’s chair with a charming smile, sending Crowley a wink, who merely rolls his eyes and takes his own seat. Making sure Daphne is tucked in nicely, Dean then takes his own seat, his gaze swinging back towards the door that leads back inside the barn. 

“I’m sure your husband will be ‘round promptly,” Crowley interrupts Dean’s wandering eyes, his fond words _almost_ covered up by his snide tone. “Heaven knows you two can spend twenty minutes apart.” 

Rolling his eyes in turn, Dean settles in his seat and starts unwinding the scarf from around his neck, sending Crowley a blasé smile. “M’not worried ‘bout him bein’ apart from me, it’s that little hellion that I think is gonna put him into an early grave.”

Daphne gently pats Dean’s arm in that familiar, motherly way, her eyes warm as she laughs brightly. “Castiel has a way of keeping Jack in check, don’t you worry.”

“Yeah,” Dean’s smile turns a little more real, more affectionate. “You’re right.” 

“Daddy!”

Turning in his seat, Dean watches as his four-year-old son excitedly, and impatiently, makes his way through the crowd. Every time someone cuts in front of him he pouts, only able to move about another foot or so, but eventually the crowd thins and Jack comes rushing towards Dean, holding up a crinkled, white paper bag.

“Papa said we can have donuts after lunch!” Jack announces, volume a bit too loud even for an outdoor setting.

“‘Eyyyy, squirt,” Dean reaches out to pull Jack up onto his lap, gingerly setting the bag down on the table. “Where is papa?” 

“Ummm,” Jack twists a little to look towards the door of the barn. “Waiting.” 

“Papa’s gonna need some help bringing all that food to the table, don’t you think?” Dean asks, unable to resist reaching up to gently poke one of Jack’s chubby cheeks. Castiel’s big blue eyes look up at Dean from Jack’s face, his heart immediately melting. 

“But there’s _so much food_,” Jack whines.

Moment broken. “Alright, alright.” Dean shifts a little, standing up while handing Jack over towards Daphne. “You hang out with auntie and Crowley for a bit, ok? I’ll go help papa with the food.”

Jack settles on Daphne’s lap, pouting harder. “Ok.”

Daphne’s laugh tinkles, one of her delicate hands coming up to gently brush Jack’s unruly blond hair away from his face. “Let’s talk about what animals we’re going to pet when we’re done with lunch, ok?”

Jack lights up, “Llamas!!”

Shaking his head and chuckling to himself, Dean wanders into the barn. Sunday brunches are a long-held tradition between the Novak-Crowleys, everyone rotating every week on figuring out where they’d go. Castiel had found this farmer’s bluff last autumn; the crops are seasonal, something to do year ‘round between the souvenir shops, orchards, and petting zoos, and while they’ve been out here half a dozen times, Dean knows that they haven’t seen everything that the bluff has to offer. There are constantly crowds of people, which is probably why they don’t come out super frequently, especially with Jack, but even though it’s seventy-five percent tourist trap, Dean loves it. 

He sees Castiel’s dark mop in a crowd of pale beanies. Weaving his way through the crowd he sneaks up behind the man, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing a soft kiss to the bolt of his jaw. “Hey. Looks like you lost your little helper.” 

Castiel chuckles, shifting a little to draw Dean into his side. “Yes, well. He made off with the most important part of our meal.”

“What can I say? Our boy has his priorities straight,” Dean grins. 

“Teaching him that dessert is acceptable at any time of day isn’t necessarily a priority that aligns with my own personal beliefs,” Castiel says wryly. 

“Nah, but it sure is fun,” Dean laughs.

“Order five-eighteen, your drinks!” Someone calls from the service counter.

Castiel nudges Dean, “That’s ours, could you take them to the table? I can get the trays myself.” 

“Sure, babe,” Dean says. He sneaks another kiss to Castiel’s cheek and then heads up towards the frazzled-looking barista, sending her a warm smile and exchanging a five dollar bill for the drinks. She sends him a watery-eyed thankful look before pocketing the cash and then flitting off to return to the loud, chaotic-sounding kitchen. Whistling to himself Dean carries the drink tray back outside to their table, watching Jack color the mini coloring book with the small pack of crayons he knows Daphne keeps in her purse at all times. “Here we go,” Dean says, passing the hot to-go cups around. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Daphne says, squeezing his bicep. 

Castiel comes out a few moments later, expertly balancing a tray of food on either hand. Dean takes one easily, the both of them passing out food together, and then once they’re all seated, Jack between Crowley and Castiel, they start digging in and chatting idly about their week behind, and the week up ahead. 

Moments like these, Dean takes care to absorb everything going on around him. He takes stock of his current life, counts his blessings, and makes sure to absorb all of the _good_ surrounding him.

Daphne and Castiel had finalized the divorce without fanfare. Six months later, Castiel and Dean got married. Eight months after that, Daphne and Crowley got hitched. As they all familiarized themselves with one another, with dinners and outings and visits to each other’s homes and workplaces, they all fell into a sort of… rhythm. For Dean, who’d grown up in a slightly broken home, suddenly being surrounded by people who cared for him (yes, even Crowley, who could be a prickly sonuvabitch, but was there when it counted), he found himself latching on to the dynamic. 

Daphne mothered him. He’d noticed it from day one when he’d been working on the Novak ranch. He never told her to stop, because it never bothered him. Even when he and Castiel were in the throes of their affair, having Daphne’s warm touch and loving gaze on him were something that Dean didn’t even know he’d been missing. After everyone’s dirty laundry had been aired and they’d all gotten together to visit, there wasn’t a hint of awkwardness. Daphne had looked at Dean and Castiel’s joined hands with affection and adoration in her eyes, her stamp of approval not something that they necessarily needed, but definitely something both men wanted. 

At first, Dean hadn’t been able to see why Daphne chose Crowley over Castiel. Who in their right mind would go for some poncy British dude over Castiel freaking Novak? But then Dean had seen the way Crowley kisses her knuckles, opens doors, pulls out chairs, caters to her every whim. Crowley was a gentleman, through and through, and while to some on the outside he might seem a little pompous about it, but Dean soon learned that Crowley only had eyes for Daphne. While Castiel has little to no faults about him, he’d never been… Princely, towards Daphne, and it was clear she quite liked being the courted maiden. 

Crowley still irritates the hell out of Dean sometimes with his snide comments, but he knows under it all, Crowley holds both Dean and Castiel close to his heart, not only for Daphne’s sake, but for his own. Prickly as a cactus on a good day, Dean knows that they’re all Crowley has, so even when they bicker or argue, Dean allows his own gruff affection to outweigh the annoyances. 

Dean and Castiel’s relationship never lacked for passion as it grew. Dean had been a bit nervous, at first, about growing up - about becoming a man - because he’d been sure that while Castiel never had bad intentions, he was also fairly convinced that Castiel liked him as, well, a nearly underage twink. As the years went by and Dean started to bulk up and gain inches both in width and height and Castiel still worshiped him like a god, Dean’s insecurities melted away. No matter what Dean looked like, their dynamic was still the same. 

Dean still submitted, and Castiel still dominated.

Casitel had mentioned his own insecurities; after all, while Dean was getting older, so was Castiel. He’d been worried that Dean would wake up one day and realize he didn’t want to be with someone older than his dad, but that day never came, and probably never will. It helped that Castiel was turning into a silver fox and still had a bangin’ body, but y’know, he’s also a pretty neat human being as well. 

The decision to bring a child into the picture hadn’t been an easy one. They all bounced ideas back and forth, not only on figuring out how to bring a child into the world (adoption? IVF? Surrogate?), but how to raise one. All four of them had become a unit of sorts, familial vs romantic, and they needed to figure out a plan. Who would be the donor? How would they split time between families? How could they act as a unit while still being separate? 

The answer came in the blessed form of Dean’s cousin Joanna Beth, whom he had hired to work in his auto repair shop. Strapped for cash, she had at first joked that she would put a bun in the oven for a paycheck, and while she and Dean had laughed it off, Castiel had looked at her consideringly. That night Castiel mentioned offhand how much Jo and Dean looked alike, despite being cousins; light hair, freckles, soulful eyes. Dean had shrugged it off at the time, but a few days later, Castiel brought it up again. 

And again.

And again.

Slightly exasperated, Dean had gone back to Jo to ask about her seriousness in the matter. He mentioned that since she’d joked about it Castiel had kept mentioning it, and, in typical Joanna Beth fashion, she’d said: 

“Me n' Cas'd make a cute baby.” 

More discussions, heated debates, and one joke about Castiel being the ultimate sugar daddy, and then it’d been decided. Daphne had learned a few years prior that she’d been infertile, so her eggs weren’t an option. Jo, twenty-two and “ripe” (she’d totally punched Dean for that descriptor), went through IVF with Castiel’s donation from both his wallet and his ballsack, and nine months later Jack had been born.

Co-parenting with two people is one thing, but co-parenting between four was a feat. Lots of commune jokes, sleepless nights; there’d been a solid four months when Jack was a newborn that they all lived under the same roof in Castiel and Dean’s home, making sure that they all could spend precious time with the baby as well as work in shifts. Between the four of them they settled into a routine, raised a baby into a toddler, and got closer than ever before, even as Daphne and Crowley returned to their own home.

If, on the day Dean’d been hired on to the Novak ranch, someone would have said this is where he’d be almost a decade later… whoo-wee, he’d be a right mess.

But right now, sitting outside this kitschy restaurant-barn-gift shop on a beautiful Spring day, watching his husband help Crowley wipe Jack’s face clean between bites of mac and cheese, Daphne with a book in her spare hand and doing more observing of her family than actually reading, Dean thinks… this is where he’s meant to be. Through all the diaper changes, the late nights, the arguments, the making up, the odd but true bond they’ve all got with one another… 

Dean reaches out to hold Castiel’s left hand, thumbing over the ring on his finger. Castiel glances towards Dean with an arched brow, but Dean smiles and shakes his head. Returning the smile, eyes crinkling at the corners, Castiel turns to continue his conversation with Crowley over Jack’s head. 

Besides, Dean thinks to himself as he lets go of Castiel’s hand so he can shove his panini in his face. Having a second set of parents means that Castiel can still fuck the freak out of Dean on a regular basis. 

“Did you know that daddy wears panties?” Jack suddenly asks Crowley and Daphne.

Dean chokes on his panini. 

Crowley gets an absolutely evil look on his face, Daphne coughs into her hand, and Castiel looks like he’s about to burst an artery trying not to laugh.

Yep. 

Wouldn’t change a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ages were put in originally as reminders to myself but I thought it'd be cute to leave them in as reminders for y'all as well ☺ One tiny inconsistency in the smut that I hope you'll ignore and just appreciate instead, lmao
> 
> Thank you for joining me on this journey! I'm grateful every day to engage with every single one of you. You have no clue the strength you lend me.
> 
> Until the next one!


End file.
